Starry, Starry Night
by KumoHatake
Summary: When Lars, a struggling artist, who is ready to throw it all away, meets Matthew, a kind and loving spirit, will Lars have a change of heart and continue on the right path? Or will Matthew be helpless as to save him? NetherlandsxCanada Rating may change for more intense scenes later on.
1. Chapter 1

Lars brushed the sweat from his brow with his hand, splattering dark blue paint on his face. He peered down at his watch. Five o'clock. "Damn it," he muttered, placing his paintbrush down with a sigh. "Forgot to sleep again." He pushed the canvas to the side and threw his head onto his table, shutting his eyes. The cold air nipped at his skin, forcing his hair to stand on end in an attempt to keep his body warm. Winter was a tough time for the Dutch teenager, as was the blistering hot summer days. Not even Lars would consider his house a home. To him it was merely where he slept, ate, and painted. There was no warmth on cold nights or coolness on the hot days. The only heat in his house now was the breath coming from his mouth and the candles dimly lighting up his work space. He lived alone in this tiny, pathetic house, though he hardly lived here at all. He preferred to go out. Anywhere that was warm anyways. He was attending college now, where most of his money went to. He just hoped it was worth it.

Lars was originally from the Netherlands and living with his sister. Once she moved out, however, he moved to Canada in hopes of receiving an education, particularly in art. But things got out of hand. He got into things he shouldn't have. Drugs…Alcohol…He was clean now though. He had been for about a year. But here he was, practically living in poverty.

He lifted his head from the table and looked at his painting. In his eyes, it was pathetic. One of the worst things he's ever made. He only saw its flaws, its imperfections. To anyone else, it was a masterpiece in the making. With his own individual style and perfect use of cool colors, he was creating a beautiful midnight sky over a busy city. He scoffed at it and stood.

The floors creaked under his weight. He scavenged his kitchen for anything to eat, but all he could manage to find was a small box of dry cereal. He shrugged and ate it as he got dressed. His typical wardrobe contained a large coat, boots and a scarf. And that's what he wore today. After grabbing his supplies for class, he quickly washed his hands and face of paint and left, not bothering to lock his door or pick up his paints, even though his paintings were the only thing keeping him alive. He sold his paintings for money, on top of his part time job.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way to school. To keep himself warm in the meantime, he took out his favorite pipe and lit it with a lighter, placing it in his mouth and exhaling smoke from his nose from time to time. It was about a thirty minute walk to campus, leaving Lars to his thoughts.

He looked up at the gray, dull sky, feeling relatable to the weather right now. He hated his life. Hated going nights without eating…without sleeping to meet deadlines for his art. He was a slave to his talent. He couldn't remember the last time he painted for himself. Years probably. He was tired, exhausted, drained of hope that life would expand into something better. A snowflake landed on his nose. He blinked and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat.

Dark circles traced his eyes, showing just how tired and malnourished he was. Despite not eating much, he was well built and rather muscular. He was taller than the average male with dark blond hair, which he normally kept spiked up. Being a man of few words, he normally only expressed himself through art. His paintings were normally sorrowful, dark, but beautiful. Acrylic and oil paints were what he normally used, but he would also draw from time to time. He hardly used warm colors anymore. Before all this he would paint beautiful tulips of vibrant reds and yellows in fields of emerald grass and eloquent blue skies. That was during much happier times, however. There was no inspiration for such beauty now.

Campus was just up ahead now. He put out his pipe and placed it back into his pocket. He stared down at the pavement, watching as one foot stepped past the next. _I hope I'll be able to sell that painting, _he thought to himself. He always doubted his ability to create satisfactory art. But if he didn't, he wouldn't have any way of getting by day by day. If only he had inspiration. Living like this limited his creative abilities. He looked down at his hands, cold and slightly stained with paint. _I have to do better._

He stepped into the classroom, the blast of warm air from the room nearly knocking him back. But it was a relieving sensation. He sat towards the back of the classroom. He was early, as usual, being the only person in the room. Class wouldn't start until another forty-five minutes. In his boredom, he got out some paper and a pen and doodled. _Should I just drop out?_ He thought. _Am I really gaining anything from this? I can't afford to be here anymore._ Angry, he waded up the paper and tossed it behind him. He crossed his arms over the desk and put his head down.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice cooed. Lars felt a light tap on his left shoulder. Lars lifted his head and turned. "What?" Before him was a young man, small and feminine, with long blond hair and large glasses. His striking violet eyes stared nervously at Lars. The boy blinked and looked away, holding out his hand with the crumpled up paper. "I…think you dropped this. It kinda…landed on my head." Lars looked at the paper, then at the stranger. He took the paper from his hand. "Sorry about that."

The stranger smiled kindly. "No, it's alright," he insisted. He watched as Lars tossed the paper in his backpack, to later be forgotten. "Um, by the way…this is Art History class, right?" the stranger asked, looking confused at the lack of students.

Lars nodded. "It is, but you're thirty minutes early," Lars replied, putting his head down again. "Oh," he laughed nervously. "Sorry, I just transferred here. Would…you mind if I sat beside you?" "Go on ahead," Lars said his voice muffled. "Um, o-okay." He sat beside Lars quietly, hardly making a sound as he did.

The two were silent for a while; Lars remained with his head down while the other sat with his fingers interlocking each other on the table. Finally, the stranger couldn't take the silence anymore. "My name is Matthew, by the way."

_I guess this guy isn't going to shut up,_ he thought as he lifted his head. "Lars," he said.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Lars. My name is Lars," he repeated.

"Oh! Sorry…" Another awkward silence was born.

"…That's an…interesting accent you have," Mathew said.

"I'm Dutch."

"So…you're from the Netherlands?"

"Yes."

"Oh…cool."

"Sure."

_He probably thinks I'm annoying,_ Matthew thought with a sigh. _I'll just stop talking._ He glanced over at Lars, cheeks becoming a light hue of pink. _He's very handsome. _He couldn't help but noticed the aroma that came from Lars. He smelled like smoke and paint. An odd combination that he wasn't sure he liked or not. He looked down at his hands, paint dried under his fingernails, mostly blue. He wondered why he was so dirty. _Maybe he's an artist?_ He thought. _A lot of artists are normally like that…At least that's what I've heard…Should I ask him?_

Lars looked down at the other. He took notice to his appearance. He wore very elegant, but casual, clothing, completely out of Lars' price range. _He must be well off,_ he thought scornfully, growing jealous. Matthew was very well kept, smelled clean, _looked_ clean, probably had money. That's what really angered him. Lars was a greedy person at heart, always wanting money. With the way he was living, though, he hardly had a penny to spare for himself.

At the same moment, they realized they were staring at each other. Lars frowned and looked away. Matthew sighed sadly and did the same.

_This guy is far from interested in me,_ Matthew thought, secretly hoping Lars would be a little flirty with him. Matthew never really had much of an interest in women. He much preferred the lean, tall men…like Lars.

Soon the class began to fill up with other students, and the conversations ended between the two. During that time, Lars was oblivious to Matthew's glances up at him. He had struck a sudden interest in this Dutch man. Matthew would smile from time to time.

After class was dismissed, Lars gathered his things together and stood, as did Matthew. "Well, see you tomorrow, eh?" Matthew said, smiling sweetly. Lars stared at him for a moment. "…What? Oh…sure." He blinked and rushed to the door, only to have Matthew follow close behind. "S-So um…where are you going now?" Matthew asked.

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

"Me…"

"Why?"

"Well…since I'm new here and all…and I don't know anyone here…would you mind showing me around?"

_As long as it keeps me out,_ Lars thought. "Yeah, alright." He shrugged his shoulders and pushed open the door.

Matthew's face brightened up. "R-Really?" _I didn't think he'd agree…_ "Th-thank you…!" he said, following close behind Lars.

*****Author's note:**

**Thought I disappeared forever? Nope, I'm still here with a new story! It's probably not going to be as intense as my last story, but, hey, why not try something different? Who knows, maybe it will get intense? (Knowing myself it probably will.) Let's see where this story goes. Hope everyone enjoys this fic as much as they did my last one. Yeah, NedCan isn't a very popular pairing, but that's what I wanna do! I ship it too hard. And I've been meaning to write this fic since I ended my last one. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Thanks again for showing me around," Matthew said, now familiar with the entire campus thanks to Lars. Despite not being very enthusiastic about the entire thing, he did indeed show Matthew around. Lars was obviously getting tired. He wanted to go to sleep, to make up for the lack of which.

"Yeah, sure," he responded, eyes easing their way down to the pavement below them. All he could think about was sleep.

Matthew looked worriedly at him. "Are…you alright?" he asked. "You look a little pale." He suddenly grew upset. "I-I'm sorry…I've kept you out too long…" He looked down, ashamed.

Guilt fell over Lars. "…Not your fault, I'm just tired," Lars said. "I haven't slept in a while."

"Can…I tell you something?" Matthew asked promptly, sniffling as he gazed up at the taller man.

"Yeah?"

He smiled sadly. "You're the only person who has bothered to speak to me today. Everyone else has ignored me." This struck Lars as strange. He was a very talkative person... And kind. How did no one speak to him?

"I'm, uh, sorry to hear that." Matthew looked down. "Yeah…It happens a lot though." Matthew cleared his throat. "Well…thank you." Matthew held his hand out to Lars. Lars looked down at it. His fingers were long and elegant, clear of any abnormalities. They reminded Lars of the hand of a woman, proper, clean, and slightly groomed. Lars hesitantly held his tattered hand out to his. The difference between the two of them was painfully obvious. Lars was ashamed that such a clean hand had to come in contact with his filthy hand.

When their hands interlocked, Matthew flinched. _His hand is freezing…_ He studied his hand, seeing how stained and dirty it was. Matthew looked frightfully up at Lars, not to insult him, but to show concern for him.

Lars pulled his hand away from Matthew's and shoved it back in his pocket. His hand was…so warm…so gentle. Lars pulled his scarf up past his nose to cover the hue of humiliation on his cheeks. "See you around," he muttered as he turned away, holding his dispirited head low.

Matthew stood there, unable to move. He watched helplessly as the man treaded away. His mysterious atmosphere left him curious. Drawn to him, he had an urge to follow him, but his senses told him not to. He had pestered him long enough. Matthew went on his way, silently reflecting on his time with this stranger. He admitted that Lars was a little crude and antisocial; however, surely there was a reason? Everyone had some good in them, right? Perhaps Lars was just as friendless and forsaken as he was. He wrapped his arms around himself, his fluffy, red hoodie not enough to keep him warm. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he hoped to get one last brief look at Lars, but he was no longer there.

Lars blankly eyed his canvas, conflicted over rather it should be deemed as trash or a possible sell. _Who'd buy this?_ He thought scornfully, only degrading himself further. Yet again he had forgotten to rest. But this _had_ to be done. This had to be finished. _I should start over. But I don't have the time. I need money now._ Gently, he sank the tip of his paintbrush into black paint. He signed his name on the bottom corner of the canvas._ Lars M._ He wrapped the painting in a cloth towel carefully, positioning it against the wall, where other paintings rested.

He groaned painfully. His eyelids had the weight of bricks. "I can't live like this anymore…" A low growl echoed from inside him. He gripped his abdomen tightly. "Shut up," he told his stomach. "What do you want me to do? Eat paint? That's all I got…" His thoughts voyaged deep through his mind. His focus suddenly became locked on the memory of that person he met yesterday. Matthew was it? Yeah, that was his name. The blond with the violet eyes. Those eyes. That was one of the most striking features about that boy to him. So vibrant. Full of life. Yet, there was a hint of sorrow hidden deep inside, he knew it. Then he remembered his hands. They felt of satin and were flawless, like a gem. Warmth blossomed on his cheeks. But before a smile could find its way to Lars' lips, he shook the thought away, recalling that he had to go classes.

With no clean clothes, he threw on what he had worn the day before, hoping it will go unnoticed. He was filthy, dirty, and smelled bad…and didn't care.

He continued on his daily routine, traveling down the same path he took every day to school. Such a repetitive life. Such a dull, painful, repetitive life he lived. He really had nothing to live for. No ambitions, no one to love…nothing._ Why can't my life be interesting?_ _Why can't I at least have money? Is there nothing for me here? _He kicked the snow under his feet. "I should have never left home…"

He entered the class after a long walk, accompanied only by his thoughts. He sighed as the warm air engulfed him. This time, however, as he approached his normal seat, someone was already in the classroom.

"Good morning, Lars," a soft voice said. Matthew smiled. He closed the book he had been reading and set it aside. He was sitting in the exact spot he had sat yesterday, in the space next to Lars' seat. "Did you get your rest?"

Lars stared at him suspiciously. "…How long have you been here?" he asked, ignoring his first two statements.

Matthew shrugged. "Oh, not long," he said, shifting around in his seat innocently. "Just a few minutes."

"You're early again."

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Why?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno."

Lars rolled his eyes and took his seat as he normally would, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, holding his head low and shutting his eyes.

"…Why are _you_ here early?" Matthew asked.

"Why are _you_ still talking?"

He blinked, but instead of feeling insulted, he responded, "Because you keep replying to me."

He opened his eyes. "So if I stop talking to you, will you stop talking to me?"

"Probably."

Lars sighed. "Fine. Then I'll stop talking to you."

"Okay."

"…"

"…"

Matthew sighed and looked forward, swaying his feet back and forth. He was smiling. Lars gave him little butterflies in his stomach. Despite his rudeness, he liked his company. Some company was better than no company. He tilted his head and looked up at Lars, wondering why Lars was the only person that acknowledged him. Normally when he spoke, his words fell, never meeting anyone's ears. He was left unheard, unseen. This was such a different experience. Annoying Lars like this was the only real attention he had ever gotten, other than from his family. Lars was different, though…

"Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" Lars gave him an annoyed glare. That credulous grin on Matthew's face was beginning to have a strange side effect on Lars. _Why is he looking at me like that?_ No one ever looked at him like that. If anything, they would look at him like mold on bread. "Cut that out."

Matthew grinned teasingly. "What happened to not talking to me?" he mocked.

Lars stuttered, his grin throwing him off. "I-I um." He huffed and rolled his eyes, shrugging off his defeat. "Whatever. Just quit staring at me like that."

Matthew giggled softly, watching as Lars got all flustered and scratching the back of his head nervously. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something," Matthew said.

Lars rolled his eyes. "God, now what?"

"Are you an artist?"

Lars frowned and stared confusedly at him. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Well," he said, turning his whole body towards him, "You always have paint on your hands," he said, looking down at Lars' stained hands. Lars quickly hid them from his view, stuffing them in his coat pockets. "And you're really quiet and shy…" "I'm not shy-" "And you're taking Art History with me…and you just have that…artistic look about you…" Lars stared out into space quietly as he spoke. "So?" Matthew asked. "Are you an artist?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes. I'm a painter."

Matthew's irresistible eyes of violet brightened. "I'd love to see some of your work someday…"

Lars watched as some people entered the classroom, taking out their notes and preparing for class. He sighed and leaned his head to the side, thinking. _Maybe he'd buy some,_ he thought, though there was always that sense of doubt gnawing in the back of his brain. "I'll bring some tomorrow," he said.

Matthew smiled sweetly. "I'm sure they're lovely. I can't wait to see them."

"Hm."

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**I'm starting to feel as if this one pales in comparison to my last one, but I wanted to try something different. Leave me some reviews, I'm not a baby, I can take some criticism! I'd love to hear some! I know that since this isn't a very popular ship, not many will read this, but, it gives me something to do. Let's just see how this goes and I'll see if I should continue this! Thanks for reading! Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

"Bye, Lars!" Matthew said smiling and waving as Lars left. "Don't forget your paintings tomorrow, okay?" Matthew trotted close behind Lars, like a duckling following its mother, despite already saying goodbye.

"Yes, yes, I will bring them. Good bye." He rolled his eyes, walking as fast as he could without making a scene. _What is his deal? I'm not that interesting,_ he thought silently to himself, glancing over his shoulder to see Matthew still there. "…Bye," he repeated with emphases, hoping he would leave.

Matthew stopped, smiling sadly. "Okay…See you tomorrow…" He watched as the other stormed away. He sighed and turned the opposite direction. He looked down at his feet, his gait slow and slump. _I guess I've forgotten how to talk to people…_ His cheeks reddened from the cold air and embarrassment. _But he's the only one who talks to me…_Tears flooded his eyes and his nose became runny. He sniffled softly and rubbed his face.

A quiet buzz sounded from Matthew's side pocket. He reached into his pocket and found that it was his phone. His eyes brightened when he saw he had a new text message from his father. "Papa…!" He opened the message and read silently to himself.

"_Bonjour, Matthew! Hope things are going well in your new college! I miss you! I'm sorry, but I have some bad news. I won't be home as soon as I planned. I'll be in France for another week. See you then! _

_ ~Papa_"

The sparkle vanished from his eyes, as did his smile. He gulped sadly. Disappointment fell over him. He glanced over his shoulder, in a pitiful attempt to reach out to someone, particularly Lars. He whimpered softly, "O-Oh, well…" He returned his phone to his pocket. "It's not his fault. I'm sure he's busy." He forced a smile onto his lips. "I'll manage." Despite knowing he'd be by himself, yet again, he returned home to another lonely afternoon.

That frigid night, Lars lay shivering in his bed, clutching the blanket wrapped tightly around him. He refused to muster up any strength to paint tonight. His roaring stomach, chattering teeth, and busy mind kept him awake throughout the night. He tossed and turned; only losing consciousness every so often. As dawn approached, and light began to shine through the windows, he stared at the paintings he had propped up on the opposite side of the room, either unsold or forgotten. Their dark colors blended into the shadows of the house, making them near impossible to point them out. However, their shimmering glistens reflecting off the early sun brought a sense of life to the room.

Matthew's voice echoed in his mind, remembering such excitement in his tone. _"I'm sure they're lovely. I can't wait to see them." _

"Tck…," he grumbled. He stood from his bed, holding the blanket around his shoulders. He looked down at the canvases and papers. He knelt down and picked one up, one that he favored a little. It was an oil painting of a dark brown rabbit, representing one he had for a pet as a child. He sighed. "Lovely, huh?" he mumbled to himself. "…We'll just see." He tossed the painting onto his bed, followed by a few others he was willing to take to show Matthew. He placed them carefully in a satchel, tattered and worn from age and overuse.

He stepped outside into the chilled morning air. Lars looked up at the sky, squinting his eyes. The sun was desperately struggling to force through the somber clouds of gray. The snow had ceased for now, and the sky was beginning to clear. The streets were busy with people and cars buzzing by on their daily routines. With his satchel close by his side, he began his walk to campus.

As he normally would, his eyes were constantly moving around, silently gathering inspiration for his art. He'd briefly study the trees, cars, birds, people, and the sky. Everything could be seen as art in his eyes. As he redirected his head to normal position, he felt a light push against his chest. He snapped back into reality and lowered his head at the person in front of him.

"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't…looking where I was going," the soft voice said. The person held his head low, a to-go coffee mug in one hand and a small piece of food, probably a biscuit, wrapped in a napkin in the other. "I-I'm sorry," he repeated, turning away.

"Uh, Matthew?" Lars asked, leaning down, as to look closely at him. Matthew lifted his head, his stunning violet eyes easing their way up to meet Lars' forest green eyes. He stared blankly at Lars for a moment until his brain registered who this was.

"O…Oh! Lars!" Matthew straightened his back out and stood tall and confidently now. He smiled happily. "I didn't know it was you! Heh…H-How are you?"

"…I'm fine," Lars replied. He looked down at the food and hot beverage in Matthew's hands. His mouth began to water. He gulped and looked away, praying his stomach wouldn't reveal his hunger.

Matthew noticed the satchel on Lars' side. "Hey, are your paintings in there?" he asked eagerly.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I brought them," he said, becoming distracted by the delicious aroma coming from the coffee in front of him.

"Hey! I was just on my way to the park to eat my breakfast!" Matthew said. "Why don't you join me? You can show them to me there!"

"…I…suppose," he said. He knew the park was only about two blocks from where they were. "Yeah, alright. We can go."

Matthew took a quick sip of his coffee. "Great! Let's go, then!" He stepped right past him, confidently leading the way to their destination, now a completely different person from the one who bumped into Lars before he recognized him. Lars followed him, confused as to how he could alter his confidence so quickly.

"So," Matthew said, breaking the silence. "Do you live around here?" he asked.

"Uh…No…I don't," he lied. "I live…down that way." He pointed to the opposite side of town, where he hardly ever went. He knew that was where the more expensive houses were. He couldn't admit to anyone that he lived in such a pathetic house. He glanced down at Matthew's food and coffee again, forcing himself to restrain from grabbing it.

"Me, too," Matthew said, then tilted his head and frowned. "Are you alright?" he asked, noticing him spacing out. He looked down at his coffee and biscuit. "…Do you-"

"No, I'm fine," he said, looking ahead of him now, flustered by hunger. "There's the park," he said, changing the subject and speeding up his pace. He found the closest park bench and sat himself on the far left side of it, placing his satchel between them and turning his head away. Matthew sat on the far right side, shyly placing his breakfast in his lap. His feet were close together on the ground, one foot tapping repetitively on the ground. He looked at the satchel, then up at Lars, still looking away. The suspense was killing him. He had thought about Lars' paintings all night. "M-May I?" he asked softly, beginning to reach for the bag. Lars shrugged, "Yeah, sure."

Matthew carefully lifted the satchel and opened the flap. His hands brushed gently against the canvases until he began to pull them out, one by one.

"W-Wow," he exclaimed softly. His mouth became ajar with wonderment. Such a detailed painting, so full of emotion. It was very abstract, but it gave off its own kind of vibe, like you could feel how Lars felt as he painted it. It was eerie and mysterious, just like him. Random bold lines streaked across dark asymmetrical patterns. There was a sense of…being trapped…of wanting to break free, like the hues were trying to escape the painting. Matthew felt sad looking at his painting, and he wondered…is this what Lars felt like inside? "L-Lars, it's beautiful…," he said with awe. "R-Really, it is…I don't know what to say…"

Lars finally turned and looked at him. "You think?" he asked doubtfully.

Matthew looked up at him with a very serious look. "I _know_! Look at it, it's…Well, you made it so I guess you have, but…How can you not think this is good? It's amazing…" Matthew gently placed it down and reached for another one, this time, the painting of the rabbit. Matthew giggled. "Aw, a bunny," he cooed. He smiled brightly at this painting. "So cute…"

Lars watched in amazement as Matthew pulled out his paintings, his reactions growing more and more positive with each one. He didn't know what to think of this. With each one he saw, Matthew gave him a complement. It was strange to him.

"…Hey," Lars said, interrupting Matthew's praise.

"Yes?"

"Do…you wanna buy some? I'm selling them. I sell what I paint."

"They're for sale? Really?" he looked down at the canvases scattered on his lap. "S-Sure…! I'd love to buy one…um…I really like this one…" He pointed to the first one he had seen, the one that defiantly sparked his interest. "How much is this one?"

Lars lifted his head high. He hadn't put a price on any of those works yet so he had no idea what to sell them for. "Make me an offer," he said, staring intensely at Matthew.

"Oh…gosh…for this…um…Would you take $500…?"

Lars stared blankly at him. He blinked and opened his eyes wider. "D-Did you just say…$500?"

Matthew's eyes saddened. "S-Sorry, is…that too little? I-I'll take it for $700…L-Lars…! You're turning pale!"

He held his hand to his forehead, staring down at the ground. _$700?!Is he serious?!_ He felt faint, shocked. He had never been offered so much for one painting. He gulped and looked back towards a very concerned Matthew.

"…Did I…insult you?" Matthew asked. "I'm sure you've been offered much more grand offers, but that's all I can spend with Papa not home…"

"No…No, I…" He took in a deep breath. "…$500…will do…"

"Just $500?"

"…W-Well…"

"Lars, if you're struggling…I'll give you $700," Matthew said, gazing up at Lars with caring eyes. "It's alright…No big deal."

"…I just…"

Matthew held his hand out. "Shake on it. $700."

Lars stared down at his hand for a moment. _I really need this money,_ he reminded himself. He hesitantly stretched his hand out to him, only to have Matthew reach out to him and grasp it, shaking it gently.


	4. Chapter 4

Matthew stood to his feet, gently placing all the paintings back in the satchel. "I'll bring your money tomorrow," he informed, smiling as he returned the beloved painting back with the others with the greatest of care. "We should meet up somewhere tomorrow, since it's the weekend and all. You can give the painting to me then. Sound good?"

Lars stared up at him with a dumbfounded look. Did that really just happen? Was he really offered that much money? Was he really _getting_ all of that money? He cleared his throat and nodded. "Um, yeah. Okay."

Matthew's eyes softened. Something wasn't right. Lars' behavior was out of sorts. Was that really a lot of money to him? "…Do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow?" he asked, smiling a little. _Would this be considered a date?_

Lars shook his head. "We can just meet up here again," he said. He had no fine clothing, nothing suitable for eating out. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in public, especially with someone else. Despite this, eating out was a luxury that he wished he could have. His paintings, on top of his job, didn't always pay well, and when it did, he preferred to stay away from expensive places.

It hit Matthew that Lars was very much not a romantic type. Needless to say, he was a little depressed by his reply. Perhaps Lars just didn't feel the same way about him. "Okay. We can just do that then." He forced an artificial smile, tilting his head sweetly. "We'll just meet up here again." He nodded politely and turned away, biting the inside of his cheek.

"…Where do you want to eat?"

Matthew turned his head around, long hair bouncing as his neck twisted gently. "W-What…?"

"…You said you wanted to go out to eat somewhere tomorrow. Where do you want to go?" His eyes avoided Matthew's. "I'll meet you there with the painting." The disappointment on Matthew's face as he turned away made him think twice about his response.

"I-I um…" The bashful side of Matthew began to show again. His eyes wandered around his surroundings, focusing on little details as he gathered his words. "H-How about there?" he asked directing his attention to a nice, French restaurant. Lars glanced over to the building. He had never been there before, that was obvious. He could never afford to eat there. With his new sold painting, however…now he could.

"Alright." He stood up, placing the strap of the satchel over his chest. "Tomorrow then."

"Great!" Matthew exclaimed, seeming to be a little overly excited. He glanced down at his watch. "Oh! Class is about to start, we should…" Lars began to walk away, in the opposite direction. "Hey…what about classes?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

"Going home to paint."

Matthew giggled softly. "Did I inspire you?" he cooed.

Lars turned his head. "…Yes."

"…Oh…Well…bye!" Matthew went on his way, a little skip in his step and a warm feeling emitting from his chest.

The fine tipped brush in Lars' hand glided blissfully against the canvas. After experiencing such kindness, such charitableness from Matthew, he felt motivated to create.

An old, desolate man, rags for clothing and feeble arms, begging on the streets of a dilapidated nineteenth century street corner. The eyes of this elderly man were sunken in from who knows what troubling things he's experienced. His boney, frail hands reached up thankfully to a brightly incandescent being. Bright golds and yellows illuminated this angel-like woman's entire body. Her flowing blonde hair made sparkling waves as she reached down to the unfortunate elder, a shining gold coin in her delicate fingers. She smiled gracefully and sympathetically at the man, placing the shimmering item in his dingy hand. Her violet eyes vibrantly beamed down at the man. The woman's delicate features and slightly ajar, gentle lips, gave a sense of hope and honesty.

Although not finished, he had worked hours into this piece with such determination. No distractions, just paint. His fatigued head began to bob to the side every so often as he grew weary. "Enough for today." With a satisfied nod, he put his paints away, and then collapsed onto the bed. He didn't care that he missed his classes. Not in the slightest. But what he did care about was his dinner with Matthew. _…Wait a minute._ His head lifted from his flimsy pillow. "Is this a date?" he whispered to himself. "No. No, it's merely a…" He sighed. "Just give him the painting, get the money, eat, and leave. Just a meal between acquaintances. That's all." His head returned to the pillow, pouting with confusion. He glanced back at his painting in progress, realizing he had subconsciously made the woman in his painting look just like Matthew. His cheeks began to burn and he tossed his body the other way. "Coincidental," he muttered.


	5. Chapter 5

Matthew stood patiently outside of the restaurant where he and Lars were to meet up. He was bundled up in a warm, thick coat, covering his rather casual clothing. He had the choice of dressing up nice, but decided not to. Dressing up too nice might make Lars feel…inferior to him. And he didn't want that.

Snow flakes began to dance around him, blurring his vision just slightly. The temperature began to decrease with each moment. Passers-by clung to their dates to keep warm. A few entered the building behind him, not giving Matthew so much as a glance. They were too distracted by each other's company to notice the lonesome young man, shivering in the cold. Of course he could wait inside, but he felt that would be wrong.

With doubt easing upon his mind, he glanced at his watch, pulling his sleeve back. It was nearly 6:30. He had been standing there since five o'clock. A pitiful moan sounded from his throat as he glanced down both sides of the road. Lars never did tell him when he would arrive, but he assumed it would be around a normal supper time.

Through the sound of distant traffic, a light noise arose quietly. The noise grew louder with each moment, yet remained calm and slow. Matthew's head jerked to his left to see a tall figure approaching, his entire shape dark and eerie. An apparent scarf around the apparition's neck rippled in the wind.

Matthew perked his head up and stood erect, watching as the figure drew closer to him. He waved and grinned, confident that this was Lars. "Lars!" he called out.

Lars lifted his head, entranced by his own two feet as he was walking. He had no clue he was already this close to the restaurant. His eyes met those of Matthew's. There was a calm sadness in Lars' face this evening. It was soothing, yet would make one wonder if there was a deeper meaning to the sorrowful look. "Hello," he greeted. His hands were by his sides, one protecting the same tattered satchel from the day before. He noticed the rosy color on Matthew's cheeks and nose. "How long have you been here?"

Matthew just grinned and shook his head. "Just a while. Don't worry, I just have a little cold or something probably. Come on, let's go in!" Without giving it any thought, he grabbed Lars' hand and dragged him into the warm, inviting building.

The atmosphere was gorgeous. Dark red furnishing and dazzling gold chandeliers were spread throughout the restaurant, matching the appearance of fine wine. There were murals of De Vinci style paintings across the walls. The din of soft clanks of glassware and silverware echoed through the sophisticated laughter and conversations of the high classed. Elegant dishes held upon silver platters were being brought out by waiters and waitresses from the kitchen. The mixed aroma of all of them at once was heavenly. Freshly baked bread, cooked mushrooms, vibrant cheeses, wide varieties of soups and crisp salads. And sweet desserts made from rich chocolates and fudge, sweet and perfectly ripe fruits such as strawberries and apples, with the sweet aroma of vanilla and sugar.

Lars' senses exploded. It was nearly enough to pull him down to his knees, gravity feeling nearly ten times as powerful as normal. He had never in his life experienced such elegance in a building. Noticing Lars' distraction Matthew took it upon himself to ask for a table.

"Lars? Lars?" Matthew gently tugged on Lars' sleeve. "We're going to our table," he told him.

Lars looked down at him, his eyes still wide. He was obviously impressed, perhaps even a little frightened of the place. This was far from what he considered normal. He nodded, eyes still wandering. "Right."

They were taken to a small table and sat across from each other. The waiter, a tall, scrawny man, placed two elaborate menus before them and offered them wine.

"Lars, would you like-"

"No."

Lars' voice boomed loudly. He realized this and cleared his throat nervously. "…I don't drink," he recovered calmly.

Matthew redirected his attention to the waiter. "We'll just have water tonight," he told him. The waiter gave Lars a suspicious look before nodding and leaving, giving them time to decide on their meal.

Matthew removed his coat, draping it over the chair he was sitting on. He glanced up at Lars, still looking like a child lost in a toy store. Matthew cleared his throat. "Lars?"

"It's beautiful."

"Huh?"

Lars looked at Matthew, then at the surroundings again. "The details. The colors. The…gold borders against the red walls." He looked up. "The crystal chandelier…see how…how the light multiplies into several colors…And how those colors illuminate the room?" Lars was completely mesmerized. Now that he felt comfortable around Matthew, he wasn't going to hide it. He pointed at the mural. "And…the artist who painted this…perfect realism. Such…soft lighting…and gentle colors."

Lars went on and on about every detail he noticed and magnified it with his vibrant vocabulary. Everything that seemed to lack of any importance suddenly seemed to be the very parts holding the restaurant together. Matthew propped his elbow against the table and held his chin in his hand. A blissful smile eased onto his lips. This was such a wonderful change in Lars' personality. He was speaking out and expressing his emotions. He was so expressive with his words. It made Matthew blush. He listened with such enthusiasm, as if listening to a story.

Lars paused his poetic words and finally looked at Matthew, who was smiling softly at him with half closed eyes. Lars blinked and straightened his back. He picked up the menu and nervously held it in front of his face, blocking Matthew's view of him.

Matthew giggled softly. "N-No, don't stop. I was enjoying listening to you. There's no doubt you're an artist." He calmly smiled at Lars, who was just barely peaking his eyes over the top of the menu. Lars covered his face again, studying the unfamiliar French words.

Matthew cleared his throat. "So, do you know what you want?" he asked.

Lars shook his head. "I don't…really know what most of these are," he admitted quietly.

"Do you want me to suggest something for you?"

"…I suppose."

After agreeing to Matthew's suggestions, and giving their orders to the waiter when he returned, the two grew silent. Desperate for a conversation Matthew spoke up. "Um. Heh…So…you don't drink?" he asked with slight curiosity.

He turned his head away. "I'd rather not talk about that," he muttered.

"I-I'm sorry. What would you like to talk about then? How about we get to know each other more?"

"I'm not that interesting." Lars raised the glass of water up to his lips, taking a small sip, not wanting to look like he was really thirsty. Because he was. And very hungry. His desire to eat grew with each moment. Every other minute or so, he'd glance up in hopes of seeing his food come by.

"Neither am I. I guess we have something in common." He thought for a moment. "Do you have any siblings?" he asked.

Lars nodded. "I do. I have a younger sister."

Matthew smiled. "I have an older brother. His name's Alfred. He's in the air force right now." He sighed. "I miss him. I worry about him every day."

There was another short pause. "How old are you, Lars?"

Lars glared at him for a moment, having no clue as to why that would interest him. "I'm twenty-four."

"You look older." Matthew's eyes widened. "N-No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound insulting…!"

Lars only rolled his eyes and shrugged it off. "Whatever, it's fine. I know I look older."

Embarrassed Matthew looked down, stroking his finger against the condensation of his glass. He pouted his lips, not meaning to make Lars uncomfortable.

"Might I ask how old you are?" Lars said, gaining Matthew's attention again. _Might as well keep the conversation going,_ he thought.

"Twenty-two," he spoke softly. "I'm twenty-two." His big sad eyes glistened in the light towards Lars. He was trying so hard to make himself of some worth towards this man. The drum in his chest pounded at the sight of Lars; sometimes so much it would physically bring him pain. But every time he opened his mouth, Lars seemed to become more and more annoyed…yet he always stayed.

Lars nodded. "Hm." He looked away again, finding himself focusing on the approaching food being carried by their waiter. In that moment, Lars completely forgot what he even agreed to eat. All he saw was food. The second his plate was set in front of him, he picked up his fork and began to ram the food into his mouth. It was as if he couldn't feed himself quickly enough. Silently he had been tolerating unfathomable hunger as he spoke so calmly to Matthew.

Frightened the waiter placed Matthew's dinner before him and left in a rush. Matthew looked down uncomfortably at his food. He didn't want to be rude, but Lars was already being rude by eating like a barbarian. Then again, he wouldn't eat like that for no reason, unless he was just totally uncivilized. Which he doubted. He cleared his throat, twice for emphasis.

Lars looked up, cheeks stuffed. He looked around the room, sensing snooty eyes glaring at him. He swallowed what he had chewed and sat straight in his seat, wiping his mouth calmly with his napkin. "I apologize," he stated softly, imitating the actions of everyone around him, eating with delicacy.

Matthew watched him sadly. He picked up his fork and poked at his food. "Don't be. It's fine." _Poor Lars. All this time he was starving. Maybe…this place is too much for him._ _I-I asked too much of him…_

The two ate and conversed quietly for the rest of the night in the restaurant. Lars stripped his plate clean of food. For once he felt almost full, though he always had room for more. Matthew smiled with satisfaction and sighed. "Oh!" He reached into his coat pocket and placed a large stack of money right before Lars, as if it were his dessert. "Here. $700. Just like I promised."

Lars lustfully grabbed the money. His fingers flipped though the bills, that light scent of fresh money giving him a short high.

"The painting?" Matthew asked innocently, hardly caring about the money.

"The what? Oh. Right." Lars reached into the satchel, still at his side, and pulled out the painting. He extended his arm and held it out to him, as if it were only a napkin asked to be handed to him. The painting caught the attention of a few surrounding patrons, but nothing more but a few impressed murmurs. Matthew held it proudly. "Oh, thank you, Lars. It will look lovely in my home."

Feeling rather grateful, Lars used a portion of the money he had received to pay for the meal. The two stood outside the building, sky eerily dark and lifeless. The bright lights of the city in the distance masked the florescent stars above, leaving nothing but a lonely moon. The young men seemed content with their exchanges. Lars was almost smiling. Almost.

"I had a nice time," Matthew murmured, blushing at the ground. "Maybe we can do this another time? Maybe not at such a fancy place?"

"Hm."

"Heh…Well, it's late." He glanced up at the sky, his slight fear of the dark settling in. He would have to walk home tonight. Alone. His gentle, wide eyes looked up at Lars as he clinched the painting against his chest, as if it were his child. "Goodbye, then." He tilted his head up and stood on his toes, just in case Lars so happened to want a goodbye kiss.

But this was not so, as he nodded and said, "Later." Lars turned on his heel and walked away, towards his house. Matthew stood there, sinking in disappointment.

Then, Lars paused. "Hey." He turned back around and stared at Matthew from a distance. "Thanks."

"S-Sure…! Yeah! You're welcome!"

Lars turned away again, this time disappearing into the night, as silent as a whisper.

Matthew clinched the painting to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, grinning ear to ear. "He thanked me."


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few weeks after that night, their small acquaintanceship soon grew into a friendship. They spoke more frequently and openly to one another, enjoying the other's company. Especially Matthew. His love for the Dutchman grew with each day. There was absolutely nothing to not adore about Lars in his eyes. He was mysterious and gentle with everything he said and did. Perhaps he was not the most romantic, but he didn't have to be. His emotions showed through his art, through his words. On top of all this, he was by far one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. His ragged, tired, face blended with his unusually gentle eyes got his blood pumping. He'd stare longingly at him during class, sometimes blocking out the lesson all together. All the while Lars, was, or seemed to be, oblivious to it all.

Matthew desperately wanted to admit his feelings toward Lars. But how would he react? Would he hate him? Be disgusted by him? Would he never want to talk to him again? These thoughts created a border around Matthew's will to ask him. But the feelings compressed inside him began to eat away at his heart. He just…had to let Lars know, rather if he would accept this or not, he just had to know.

As the last class of the day ended, Lars gathered his things and began to head home with a friendly Matthew chatting his ear up beside him. He'd glance down every so often to nod and let Matthew know he was listening. After a short pause, Matthew inhaled, the cold air burning his throat. "Lars…can I tell you something? It's a little…awkward. C-Can you promise to not hate me when I tell you?"

"Yeah, what is i…" he paused and stared at the space behind Matthew. A strange look of realization flooded his face. He glared with disgust. "Oh, great," he grumbled strictly.

Matthew's face flushed. "I-I'm sorry! I knew I should have kept this to m-myself…I-I'm so embarrassed…"

Lars looked down at Matthew. "What?" he asked with confusion. "Not you. _That."_ Lars motioned behind Matthew. Matthew turned his head to see man several feet away, looking around as if he were lost. He was tall, but not as tall as Lars. His hair was a dark chocolate brown with sparkling green eyes. He had soft facial features and was very attractive.

The man just so happened to glance over towards Lars and Matthew's direction. When his eyes locked upon Lars, they widened and he nervously looked away, suddenly looking very stressed.

"Do you know him?" Matthew asked, feeling relieved that his statement wasn't the thing that set Lars off.

"Yeah. Damn Spaniard tried to date my sister when I was still in Europe. His name's Antonio." He spoke his name as if he were some sort of insect you don't want to find in your home. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"I suppose…you aren't very fond of him?" Matthew asked.

"Not at all." Lars glared at Antonio, nervously trying to causally walk away, only to look around confused again.

"He seems lost," Matthew pointed out.

"Not my problem."

Matthew glared up at Lars with a pout. "That's not very nice."

Lars gave a dry chuckle. "Well, maybe I'm not a nice person."

Matthew crossed his arms. "Yes you are. We're gonna go talk to him."

His sternness caught him off guard. The moment Matthew walked away and towards Antonio, Lars was powerless as to stay put. He obediently followed Matthew, still not too keen on speaking to the Spaniard.

"Lars!" Antonio exclaimed, trying to pass himself off as a long time friend of his. "Hola…! How…how have you been?" Antonio's eyes were wide with what seemed to be fear. This confused Matthew greatly.

"Hm." Lars turned his head away, arms crossed scornfully over his chest.

Antonio laughed nervously. "Oh, Lars, you haven't changed at all…!" Antonio had still not paid any attention to Matthew, who was kindly asking Antonio if he needed help. Or was trying to at least.

"You go to school here?" Antonio asked, unable to hear Matthew as he offered to show him around campus if he'd like.

Lars blinked, watching as Matthew's kind offers went to the wind. "Yeah…" he said, almost doubtfully. "Yeah, I go to school here…" He frowned at Antonio, angered by him ignoring Matthew.

"Ah." The Spaniard placed his hands on his hips. "I just got here, heh, as you can probably tell…Hey, how's your sister?"

This question angered him more. "She's fine," he growled. "She's not your concern."

He lifted his hands up in surrender. "I-I know, I was just asking…!" He stood proudly. "I'm seeing someone else," he said with such honor.

"That's a shame. She must be desperate."

Antonio mockingly repeated him with a childish face. "I'll have you know," he stated with his head high. "We are quite happy together." He grinned. "And…_he_ loves me very much."

By this moment Matthew had faded out of the conversation, standing beside Lars awkwardly. He glanced up once or twice, but remained quiet.

Lars obviously couldn't care less about who he dated. "Great. Happy for you," he said dully. He looked down at Matthew, sadly swaying as he stood by his side. Antonio had ignored him…like he was just a particle floating in the air. Matthew's pain was suddenly his own pain.

Lars placed his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "This is my friend, Matthew," he pointed out to Antonio.

Antonio looked down and blinked. "Oh! I didn't see you there!"

Matthew shot his head up and looked at Antonio, finally making eye contact with him. He forced an artificial smile. "Oh, it's alright," he lied. "No harm done." _I was standing beside you…talking to you._

Lars suddenly grabbed Matthew's arm, not harshly though. His touch was gentle. He knew Antonio was uncomfortable with his presence. "We'll see you around," Lars said coldly.

A look of relief came over Antonio. He even sighed quietly. "Oh, alright then. See ya, Lars. And um…what was your name again?" He looked down at Matthew questioningly.

"Matthew," he said, forcing that same smile again. "I'm Matthew."

"Oh, sorry. Bye…!"

Lars tugged on Matthew's sleeve and began to walk away. Matthew waved shyly to Antonio as he was being pulled away by Lars.

"Is he deaf and blind too?" Lars grumbled to himself. "He hardly even looked at you…"

Matthew was flattered that Lars was concerned about him. It gave him a warm feeling in his chest. He looked up at Lars, blushing. "It's fine, Lars. It happens all the time. It wasn't him; I'm just not noticed much is all…"

He looked down at him doubtfully. "Yeah, right." Lars rolled his eyes.

"It's true," he insisted. "I'm not sure why, but you're the only one who sees me, really." He looked down sadly at his arm, where Lars had taken hold of him. _Is he really that upset? _Matthew thought. _Do I matter that much?_

Lars stood still. "I have to go home now," he stated out of nowhere. He glanced up at the gray sky. How many days had it been since the sun last shined? It seems like an eternity. He missed the warmth it emitted. The hope it brought.

Matthew didn't want him to leave. He didn't want to be alone again. His father had left for another trip to France and had no one at home to return to. "W-wait," he murmured, reaching out to him. "…Do you have plans today?" he asked.

"Why?"

He looked down at his feet. "Can…I come with you? To your house?"

Lars hardly took time to consider it. "No." It didn't look like the topic was up for discussion.

"Why not?" he inquired. "We've known each other for a while now…You trust me, don't you?"

Lars did not respond. He stared off into the distance, frowning sadly and unsurely.

"Don't you?" Matthew repeated.

"…See you tomorrow." He turned away, making his way home. He refused to show Matthew his home. Refused to embarrass himself in front of his only friend.

_Oh, no you don't,_ Matthew thought scornfully to himself. _No more hiding, Lars. I want to know._ He turned away, seeming to be making his way home. Once Lars was out of his sites, he swiftly cut across the campus, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He hid behind a tree, pressing his hands and chest against it. He's never had to hide from anyone, considering he's already naturally invisible. Since Lars had a very special set of eyes that could detect him, Matthew had to be extra careful. He spotted Lars and rotated himself around the tree to avoid being seen. He kept his distance from him as he followed him.

It was then that he noticed Lars had lied about where he lived. He said he lived in the same remote area as he did. This was not so. The further Lars went, the most uncomfortable Matthew became. This neighborhood was so…dark. The houses were old and dingy. There were hardly any trees or any signs of life for that matter. Matthew's heart sunk to his stomach as he watched Lars slump into the most pathetic house of them all. _Lars…_ He stood still, looking down shamefully. _No wonder…_

Conflicted over what to do, he stood where he was for a few minutes, pondering if he should knock on his door. _He'll be angry,_ he thought. _He'll probably never trust me again. _With this in mind, he formed a light fist and cocked his arm back, then tapped the old wooden door. The light knock vibrated the entire home, which wasn't very big to begin with. He gulped, suddenly regretting his choices.

No one answered, but Matthew knew he was home. He knocked again. "L-Lars?" he called out. "It's just me…Please let me in."

No reply.

He sighed. "Lars. I know you're just hiding from me. I know you must feel ashamed. This doesn't upset me or anything. I just want you to know that…that you can trust me."

Still nothing. He might as well have been speaking to the door.

He huffed impatiently. "Lars, if you don't come out, I'll just have to come in."

…

"Alright. Fine…" He placed his hand on the wobbly doorknob. He hardly had to turn it. The door seemed to open automatically. Not much force was needed to push it open.

The house was dark and seemed abandoned. There was dust everywhere. It was such a depressing environment. With no natural sunlight to shine through the windows, one could hardly see a thing. Matthew stumbled through the darkness, his hand pressed against the wall to guide him down the hallway. The paint began to chip away, crumbling against his the palm of his hand.

"Lars?" Matthew called out. "Lars…It's just me, Matthew…Are you home?" He felt something under his foot, nearly causing him to trip. He knelt down to pick the flat object up. A paintbrush, stained with a dark green paint. It looks like it hasn't been used in ages.

"What did you expect to see, Matthew?"


	7. Chapter 7

Matthew jumped with a small scream, holding the brush against him. He turned around to find a familiar chest in his face. He looked up, seeing Lars glaring down at him. "I-I…um…" he stuttered. He was at a loss of words.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Just…walk right into my house without my say so. Fine by me."

"N-No, it's not like that, I was just…"

"Just what? Worried? Tch. Sure."

For once, Matthew was afraid of Lars. He looked so angry. Like he could just…kill him. Matthew took a step back, feeling threatened. "I-I'll leave…If you want me to…I was…just…"

"You invaded my personal space," he snapped. "My business is not your business."

"Y-Yes, I-I know, I'm sorry…" He backed against a corner, feeling so scared, so lost. He was only trying to help…He didn't want to stir up all this…

Lars was stepping closer to him, his hands tightly balled into fists. "I told you," he said, "to not come to my house."

"I'm sorry…"

"But you did anyways?"

"I-I'm sorry…Please…Lars don't hurt me…" Tears burned Matthew's eyes. His throat began to close up. His whimpers became weak and pitiful. He turned his head away and shut his eyes, wishing he'd just beat him up and get it over with. But it never came. He opened his eyes after a moment of silence from Lars. His eyes traveled up to his face again to see something he had never seen before.

"Lars…why are you crying?"

Lars frowned and reached his hand up to his cheek, feeling the warm drop of liquid. _Tears?_ Lars thought with confusion. He turned away from Matthew, using the same hand to wipe at the other eye. "I'm not," he growled. He crossed his arms, staring angrily into the wall.

Matthew stared at Lars' back. He rubbed at his eyes, sniffling as the fear began to leave his body. _Oh, Lars…You were just afraid…_ He watched as his shoulders began to tremble. His bottle of emotions was about to crack. He knew. He's been there before. Matthew quietly stepped up to him. He rested his head against his back and wrapped his arms around his waist.

Lars jolted at his touch and spread his arms out. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm hugging you," Matthew replied simply.

"W-Why?"

"Because you need one." He squeezed him tighter, like a child would his teddy bear after a horrid nightmare. Lars may look stiff, but he was soft and very huggable. He nuzzled his face into his back.

"Let go, freak," he ordered. But he did not. Lars sighed and just stood there, huffing with annoyance. He looked down at Matthew's hands, gently resting on his chest. With hesitance, he took one into his own hand, holding it lightly. "Thank you…," he finally murmured.

Matthew giggled. "You're welcome." He blushed as he felt Lars come into contact with his hand. Now that he had him, he never wanted to let go. He felt safe with Lars close to him like this. Even in this old deteriorated place. Lars deserved better than this…This wasn't a home, it's an accident waiting to happen. The floors could give out at any moment. As could the ceiling, which seemed to be leaking. It could cave in one day, leaving Lars without a home and destroying his beautiful art…and…possibly himself if he survived that…No! Nothing like that can happen to Lars. Matthew wouldn't accept it. He had to get Lars out of this hellhole.

"Uh…You can let go now," Lars said, gently pulling away from him.

"Oh, heh, sorry." He released Lars from his grip and placed his arms back by his sides. "And…Sorry for not listening to you and coming over anyways-"

"You say 'sorry' too much," Lars pointed out.

"…Sorry." Matthew couldn't help but laugh. Lars rolled his eyes, apparently his way of laughing, and walked away.

"Follow me. Might as well show you something since you're here." Lars took Matthew to his bedroom/art room where he worked on his drawings and paintings. One could hardly see the floor due to the paintings and sketches spread out across it. Matthew tried his best to not step on anything, even though Lars stepped right on them. He didn't seem to care for them. The better ones, the ones Lars favored and valued the most, had their own designated spot on the other side of his room, beside his bed. "Go ahead, look around," he told Matthew.

To say Matthew was impressed would be an understatement. He twirled on his heel and gazed at all of the drawings on the ground and the ones pinned to the walls with tacks. He reached down and scooped up a few papers with sketches of random objects and animals. "These are really good," he complimented.

"What? Those?" Lars asked, reaching down for a canvas. "Those aren't anything." He tossed a canvas at Matthew. "_This_ is something to be proud of."

Matthew squeaked and quickly caught the canvas. _Why'd you toss it if it means that much…?_ Matthew thought as he turned it around and viewed it. It was the now finished painting of the destitute, elderly man reaching out to the angelic woman (that resembled Matthew greatly). Matthew fell silent. _Is this supposed to be…?_

"Little better than the others, huh?" Lars asked. He reached for another one and was about to hand it to Matthew when he saw that distant look on his face. He paused. "Matthew?"

"How do you do this…?" Matthew asked, looking up with wonderment.

Lars wasn't sure how to answer that. To him it was just like breathing. With nothing to say, he shrugged his shoulders. He placed the canvas he had in hand down and walked pass Matthew. "Look around. I'm going to go get something from another room. You just stay here." He left the room to retrieve whatever it was he wanted to get.

Carefully Matthew placed the beautiful painting down on Lars' untidy bed. He paced around the room, finding himself cleaning up a little. _Someone's a little messy_, he thought. The floor became more visible, revealing how faulty it was. Had he not been wearing shoes, Matthew would have had splinters all over the bottom of his feet. As he placed a stack of papers on a table, his foot bumped into something. He put the papers away and glanced down to find a shoe box by his feet. At first, he resisted the urge to look inside. After a quick look around, he gave in and picked up the box. It was heavy, signaling there was something inside. For some reason, he felt like he'd regret this if he looked inside. Too many times today he's invaded into Lars' personal business. Yet he was so worried about Lars. He had to know. He lifted off the top, nearly dropping it at what he saw.

An old, dusty pistol, hardly ever been used, if used at all. It was a dull silver and coated with dust. He placed the box on the bed and stared at it. The thought of what Lars could be doing, or planned on doing, with this terrorized him. Knowing just enough about guns to know what he was doing, he unclipped the magazine and looked inside. One bullet. Footsteps echoed down the hall. He shoved the magazine back into the gun and put it back in the box, placing it under his bed.

Lars returned with a rather large canvas and a look of pride on his face. He placed it on his bed and brushed the dust away with his sleeve. Matthew tried to block out what he had seen for now and put on a bright smile. "Tulips!" he said with glee.

"I did this a few years ago," he explained. "Before I moved here." There was a huge difference between this painting and his more recent works. This was bright and lively, happy and joyful. Made you feel blissful. His paintings now…they were dark, depressing, and showed pain, remorse, regret. They brought out sadness buried deep inside.

Tulips of red blew in the wind on a bright, sunny day. His unique style made the flowers seem to dance in the breeze. Thousands of flowers of different hues, in a field of emerald grass. The sun looked almost real, too bright to look directly at. How did he get the paint to be so bright? Magic seemed to be the only logical answer.

"You should paint like this more often," Matthew said, smiling brightly. "I like the other ones too, it's just that this one is much more…"

"Yeah, I know." He sighed sadly. "I just can't."

Matthew looked up at him, smiling. "Yeah." He gulped as his thoughts went back to the gun. _What was he going to use it for?_

Lars crossed his arms. "Well, since you had the nerve to stalk me and barge right into my home," he said, raising an eyebrow. Matthew looked down, ready for a scolding. "…I should have full right to your house."

Matthew laughed nervously. "I guess you do. How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

He blushed. "G-Great! See you then!" He glanced down at the floor. "Perhaps you could…clean up the place a little? If not for you, then me?" He gazed up at him with big, puppy eyes, blinking sweetly at him.

Lars looked away. "…I'll consider it."


	8. Chapter 8

There was a sense of hope in the air today. The breeze was still cold and the sun refused to show through the thick winter clouds, but it was brighter than most winter days and was just warm enough to turn the snow on the ground into slush. Stores and houses had begun to put up Christmas decorations. Bells chimed and busy shoppers paced the streets.

Matthew trotted beside Lars, swaying his arms cutely. Every so often, something would catch his eye in the display of a store and he'd press his hands against the glass, awing like a child. Not being a very needy person, Lars seemed to ignore all of these material items. That is until the two passed by an art store. He paused in his tracks and stared into the window, where a large easel, already set up with a blank canvas, stood. Lars' eyes shined brightly with a blank stare. Everything in his world revolved around art. It was just what he's needed, along with more paint. The money he had gotten from Matthew when he sold the painting had already gone toward food for himself.

Matthew stood beside him, looking up at the easel. To him, it was just a wooden easel. Nothing special. But he knew it was made of pure gold to Lars. He smiled as he saw Lars' expression. He tugged on his coat sleeve. "Come on, my neighborhood isn't too far away now." Lars complied and stepped away from the window and continued to follow him. He stayed a few paces behind Matthew, watching as his curly blond hair bounced with each step. His eyes may or may not have glanced down lower from time to time.

He led Lars to a small neighborhood, but with large, expensive houses. They weren't even houses, they were mansions. Amazed, Lars' pace slowed down dramatically to view each house, growing more and more divine and expensive as they passed them by.

"Here it is," Matthew announced, looking over his shoulder at Lars, wanting his approval.

The moment Lars turned his head, his jaw dropped. It was by far the largest house. The house rested upon a hill covered in snow. Three stories high and having at least fifteen rooms, it was also the largest house Lars had ever seen in person. "Woah."

"Yeah, it's pretty big, huh?" Matthew asked with a slight laugh. "Hey, Lars. In a little while, would you like to put up Christmas decorations with me?"

"…Sure."

"Great! I'm sure Papa would like to see them when he gets home."

The house was even more impressive on the inside. Family portraits hung on nearly every wall. The furniture was no doubt very expensive. They entered through the living room, which was centered around a large coffee table made of glass and wood. The fireplace was right beside the sofa, just at a close enough distance to feel the warm of its flames, if it had any. The room itself was nearly the size of Lars' entire house. "…How did you afford this place?" Lars asked, dumbfounded as he turned round and round to digest the entire house.

"My…Papa owns a winery in France. It's pretty popular there," he explained casually. "This is his house, but since I'm grown up, he's been going to France more often for work."

"And your mother?" Lars asked.

Matthew's face saddened. He looked down and rubbed his shoulder with despair.

Lars nodded. "Sorry."

Matthew smiled and shrugged it off. "It's fine. Go and make yourself comfortable. Do you want something to drink?" he offered, taking his coat off, since it was considerably warmer inside. After he placed his coat on the coat hanger, he decided he wouldn't give Lars the option and answered for him. "I'll make us both some hot chocolate." He slid his shoes off and neatly placed them at the door, skating on the slick floor with his Christmas decorated socks into the kitchen.

Lars, rather than taking his coat off, stuffed his hands into his pockets and sat at the very edge of one of the recliners, hardly sitting on it at all. He was burning up in his thick winter coat, but he didn't want to take it off. He glanced around the room, studying all of the little knick knacks that made the home unique. He lifted a small framed photo from a table and looked at the people posing inside. Three blond men, one obviously Matthew, just more juvenile. The young man beside Matthew looked nearly identical to him. But he seemed a little older than Matthew and wore a pair of glasses that were a little less thick than Matthew's. He had a ridiculous cowlick above his face, making him look very immature. His sly grin didn't help with that either. This must be Matthew's brother. _Wasn't he in the air force or something?_ The third was a much older man, but still radiated with youth. Now Lars knew how Matthew's hair was so curly. It must run in the family. This was no doubt Matthew's father.

Lars returned the frame to its original placement and stared about the room again. He inhaled a sharp, bored breath, not sure as to what he should be doing. It wasn't every day he was invited into someone's home. He looked down at his boots, soaked from the snow. He gulped and lifted his legs. There was a slight stain on the carpet below him.

_Shit._

He ripped the boots from his feet, placing them in his lap. Now his pants were going to be wet.

_ Damn it._

Swiftly, he stood and haphazardly laid them out beside Matthew's. Hoping the stain would go unnoticed, his tattered socks covered the little drop of water nervously. It was hardly worth the effort to hide it. The water would eventually dry, leaving no trace of it ever existing.

"Here you go," Matthew said as he returned to the living room, a mug in each hand. A light mist of steam twirled from the liquid inside. The aroma was sweet and welcoming. Matthew extended his arm out to Lars, handing him one of the mugs. "Careful," he warned tenderly. "It's hot."

Lars looked up gratefully at Matthew before accepting the beverage. He grasped the handle firmly and lifted the mug to his lips. He flinched at the light burning sensation. Once his skin adjusted to the heat, he took a small sip. "It's very good," he murmured.

Matthew placed himself in the chair across from him, leaning back comfortably, hoping Lars would do the same. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it." Matthew took a careful sip of his chocolate beverage, sighing as the warmth entered his body. He tilted his head a little. "Lars, you can take your coat off now if you want," he said.

Lars shook his head. "I'd rather not," he said, eagerly taking another sip.

"O-Okay, that's fine." He snuggled up into his chair, watching Lars drink his, apparent, favorite beverage. Matthew covered his shy smile with the mug, glancing down into the brown liquid. _He's so cute,_ he told himself, blushing.

Lars finished his drink before Matthew was even half way done with his own. "…What?" he asked, when he noticed Matthew staring at him.

Matthew giggled, shaking his head. "Nothing." Matthew placed his drink down and stood. "Come on, let's put some decorations up."

Lars placed his mug beside his and stood. "Sure." He followed a skipping Matthew down his hallway. Matthew got out a box, loaded to the top with items of red and green and held it out to Lars, who he assumed was right behind him. "Here, hold this, okay? …Lars?" He stretched his neck and peered over the box. "Lars?"

He had stopped in the middle of the hall, staring at the wall.

"Lars?" Matthew set the box down, soft jingles of little bells shaking as it hit against the ground. He carefully stepped over the box and tilted his head. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Starry night." There on the wall was an exact replica of Vincent van Gogh's "Starry Night". It engulfed Lars' complete, undivided attention. It entranced him, trapped him, and froze him. He stared blankly at the replica, as if he were staring into the eyes of God.

"…I take it you're a fan of van Gogh?" Matthew asked. Lars only replied with a distracted nod. "Papa bought it when he was in France. Looks like the real one, doesn't it?"

Another nod.

He tugged on Lars' sleeve. "You can stare at it later. Let's decorate!"

After prying Lars away from the Starry Night, he motivated Lars to decorate the house with him. They began with the inside of the house, draping garlands around the fireplace and book shelves. Lars, of course, helped with reaching to places Matthew couldn't. The home was beginning to radiate with Christmas spirit. Even Lars seemed to be getting into the mood. He spoke a little more openly to Matthew as they worked.

Everything was coming together. The only thing missing was the tree, which would be cut from the woods a little closer to Christmas. Matthew skipped back over to empty boxes, save for the tiny sequins and plastic pine needles spilled over on the bottom of the boxes. He searched through them one last time. "I think that's everything," he announced. "Oh, wait."

Pushed against the corner of the last box was a tiny item that Matthew almost mistaken for some debris left over from the other decorations. He retrieved it from the box and brought it out into the light.

Mistletoe.

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

** I forgot to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for all my readers and everyone following my story and leaving reviews! I read every one of them, even though I might not reply to them, and I love reading all of them! All I ask is that if you want to give a complement or some criticism, please leave a review! I always finish what I start (*cough* minus a few drawing I never finished… *cough*), but I will not abandon this story, I promise! I give my thanks to all my fellow NedCan fans~! **


	9. Chapter 9

Matthew stared at it for the longest time, taking the time to fully realize the meaning behind this little jewel. It seemed to sparkle in the right light, its whole being radiating. Matthew's lips twitched up into a smile and his cheeks became a rosy red. How romantic it would be if he hung this up, right in front of the fire place, already set ablaze with a roaring flame. Matthew would look up longingly into Lars' dazzling eyes, and he'd stare right back, the little mistletoe dangling above their heads between them. In that moment, there would be silence. Just him and Lars, alone in the world. Lars would be smiling. Matthew had always imagined Lars' smile to be perfect. His smile was something of a myth to him, never to have been seen, yet it just had to exist. Matthew would mimic Lars' grin nervously…and all he would have to do is just lean in…stand on the tips of his toes…and…

"Anything left?" Lars asked, standing behind Matthew, crouched over before a box. Matthew nervously dropped the little plant.

"O-Oh, uh…" he gulped. "No, that's it." He stood, blocking Lars' sight of the box. "Are you up for putting lights up?" he asked, forcing a smile.

"It's a big house," Lars stated doubtfully.

Matthew nodded. "Yes, I know, but we have each other…To help…put up the…lights…that is." _Who am I kidding? Lars would never fall for me. I'm too ordinary. Besides, he doesn't seem to be into men…I bet he's had tons of girlfriends. I'm sure he has one right now and just hasn't mentioned her yet…_

Lars gave him a questioning look. "I suppose. Yeah. Let's go ahead."

Matthew bundled himself back up and they both put on their boots and ventured outside. More snow had fallen since their time inside, leaving a fluffy blanket of snow on the ground. The lights were a hassle, becoming tangled easily, which would lead to Lars getting angry and swearing from time to time. Despite this he was determined to help Matthew. They got a system flowing after Lars managed to climb onto the roof and hang the lights as Matthew kept them from tangling on the ground. Dusk was falling upon them and the house was nearly finished. Lars sat himself on the roof, sighing with exhaustion. "That should do it," he said to Matthew, several feet below him.

Matthew cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled loudly for him to hear, "Be careful coming down, okay?"

"You've told me that at least ten times now," Lars muttered down to him, rolling his eyes.

"I'll tell you thirty times if I have to, now hurry up, you're making me nervous, being all the way up there…"

"You're afraid I'll fall?"

"Y-Yes!"

"Why?"

Matthew blinked and paused before answering. "…Because you're my friend…and I care about you…"

Lars stared blankly into the sky, imagining the rotating swirls of Starry Night dancing in the winter air. "If I fell…and I died…what would you do?"

"…What…?"

"If I fell…"

"N-No, don't say it again!" he begged. "N-Now g-get down _carefully…_ You're scaring me, Lars." He held his hands against his chest to contain his beating heart._ Don't do this, Lars…I know you're hurting…just please…let me help._

Lars rolled his eyes and stood up. This made Matthew's body tense up. But when Lars took his advice and eased his way back to the ladder, he relaxed. He wanted to punch him in the face for asking such a thing. When Lars returned to the ground, however, he did not. He just tossed Lars a very pain-stricken look, followed by silence. They stared up at the house before realizing it was time to plug up the lights. Lars bent down and held both sides of the cord in each hand. "Fingers crossed," he murmured, sliding the male and female ends of the cord together.

The house became a blinding orb of light. Matthew covered his vision with his arm and squinted his eyes. When his vision adjusted, an amazed breath escaped his lips. Shimmering and dazzling lights illuminated not just Matthew's yard, but nearly the entire neighborhood. The silver and gold lights danced about the house, twinkling as they shifted in rhythm. Lights in the shape of frozen droplets hung gently over the sides of the roof. The borders of each window shone vibrantly with twirling flames. It was a sight to behold.

Matthew jumped and squealed loudly with glee, like a child on Christmas morning. "Lars, it's beautiful!" he exclaimed, tugging on his arm. "Wow! Look at it! You did such a great job!"

Lars straightened his back with pride and confidence in his work. "It is, isn't it? Not bad." Matthew had hoped this would trigger a smile, even just a little one. But it did not. But he could tell that Lars was happy.

"Good thing you were there to help me, right?" Lars asked, looking down at him, the reflection of the bedazzled house in his eyes.

Matthew shrugged nervously. "Y-You did most of the work," he mumbled, forcing back a bashful grin. Matthew turned his head down, noticing that Lars was shivering. It could have been from the cold, or weakness, or both. "Let's go inside now," he suggested, smiling tenderly. "I'll make supper and some more hot chocolate."

Lars nodded enthusiastically at the thought of more of that sweet hot chocolate.

Matthew fixed up a warm meal for the both of them as Lars roamed the house. Had he not been careful and mindful, he would have gotten lost in the maze of a home. He managed to find his way back to the kitchen after exploring a few of the many rooms, each, he noted, unique in their own way. Though he didn't seem to find Matthew's room. "Which one is your room?" he asked as he stood behind Matthew, watching him cook.

He jumped, slightly startled. "Oh, my room is upstairs. Do you want to see it?"

He shrugged, trying to pass off as not caring, but he was curious. Matthew knew this and nodded. "Come on." He placed his things down and led him to the top floor of his home.

His room was rather basic, but huge. His king-size bed hardly took up any space. It made Lars wonder how they managed to get the bed into the third floor. Upon the bed were covers with little polar bear patterns symmetrically placed throughout. A little childish, but cute.

"Did you see what's hanging on the wall over there?" Matthew directed Lars' eyes to the left wall, beside the window. There hung Lars' painting he had sold to him just a few weeks ago, beautifully and respectfully framed. The borders of the frame really made the colors pop, enhancing the nonobjective shapes and hues. This one painting brought life to the entirety of the bland, plain room.

"…You…framed it?" Lars asked, bewildered.

"…Is that bad?" Matthew asked, worried that Lars didn't appreciate it. But Lars shook his head.

"N-No…it's…great." The side of Lars' lips twitched awkwardly upward, as if he were trying desperately to smile, but couldn't quite remember how. The muscles in his throat contracted as he gulped. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully.

Matthew grinned. "You're more than welcome."

Lars looked around the room again, his eyes locking on a glass door that opened up to a balcony. Beyond the balcony was a perfect, stunning view of the city. He pushed the glass doors open, a gust of sharp, chilly air nipped at their skin as it forced its way into the room. He stepped outside, the wind brushing his spiky hair back. The brilliant city lights gleamed at a distance. The nearby river made a rippling mirror image of the bustling shimmers. He propped his elbow against the black-painted metal safety rail. He had a nostalgic look in his eyes.

Matthew approached his side and stared at the breathtaking scene he saw every night. He wondered how Lars interpreted this scenery. It must be a treat for him to see this.

"Reminds me of Amsterdam," Lars murmured, breaking the blissful silence.

"Did you live near Amsterdam?" Matthew inquired.

"Not exactly. But it was one of my favorite places to go to."

"I'm sure you'll go back," he said hopefully.

"I hope so."

Matthew's heart rapidly hammered against his chest. Lars had to know. He had to know how he thought of him. However, that constant fear and anxiety of refusal and humiliation prevented him from venturing that far. He gripped the railing in front of him tightly. _Just look at him,_ he coaxed himself,_ and tell him. If…if he leaves…then…I'll just have to get over it. I don't want to ruin the relationship we already have, though…Wh-what do I do?_

"U-Uh, Lars…?" he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his sniffling nose. "W-We're…friends, right?"

Lars glanced at him with the corner of his eye, and then returned them to the city, not wanting to miss a moment of this. "I guess so," he replied, distracted.

"…Oh…okay." _You guess so…?_ Matthew thought sadly. _That…doesn't sound promising…_ "D-Do…Um…I…Y-You…" Color began to wash away from his face. The lights of the city began to dim. Was there a power outage? Surely not, so why was everything turning dark? His ears seemed to be closing, as sounds were getting harder to hear. "…I-I…" Matthew began to sway weakly against the breeze. _Why is this happening?_ Matthew pondered. He looked at Lars weakly. Lars was telling him something… He seemed worried. Matthew's weight began to lean forward, against the railing. His purple orbs rolled to the back of his head, and his body fell limp.

Lars grabbed the back of Matthew's jacket and pulled him back. Matthew collapsed into Lars' arms, face pale as the snow. Lars caught his breath, figuring for sure he was just about to plummet to his death. He sighed, lowering his head and shutting his eyes. _Okay…calm down, Lars,_ he told himself. Yet his body continued to pump his blood vigorously. That was absolutely too close. Had he not pulled him back…Lars' hands began to tremble again. Not out of hunger or weakness, but from fear. "Oh, my God," he huffed, wide-eyed. "Oh, God…"

Matthew moaned softly. His eyes opened and color returned to his face. He looked around, confused. What had happened? One moment he was speaking to Lars…now he's on the ground…in…his arms. Lars looked like he had seen a ghost. "Lars? What…happened?"

Lars glared angrily at Matthew. "I just saved your clumsy ass, that's what happened," he snapped. "What, you trying to scare the shit out of me? You almost got yourself killed, you uncoordinated piece of shit, what's your problem? Passing out on the balcony, I should have-"

Matthew lunged himself into Lars' chest, trembling arms wrapping themselves around the trunk of his body. Weak whimpers and frightened cries poured against his chest. "I-I'm s-s-s-so sorr-sorry…!" he hiccupped. "I-I-I d-d-didn't mean…t-to sca-scare you, I-I j-just…" He began hyperventilate, nearly drowning in his tears.

Instinctively, Lars rested his hands on Matthew's back. "Calm down, Matthew," he said soothingly. "It's alright…Breathe, okay? Just breathe." He traced light circles against Matthew's back with the tips of his fingers. He cradled him in his arms, calming him and urging him to slow his breathing. Matthew held onto Lars' dingy coat, bunching the cloth between his shaking fingers. He heaved and gasped, struggling to breathe normally. He nearly died. He was inches from death. It frightened him to think of it. He had to clear his mind. He listened to Lars' breathing, trying to match his own with Lars'. After approximately ten minutes, his nervous gasps returned to easy breaths. Their chests rose and fell in sync. Matthew wanted to lift his head, look Lars in the eyes. But how could he? He just embarrassed himself by nearly getting himself killed. He now owed Lars his life. "Th-thank you," he murmured.


	10. Chapter 10

"Th-thank you," he murmured. He continued to cling to Lars, feeling safer the closer he was to him. "Thank you…f-for saving my life…"

Lars grunted. "Don't…say that. I'm…sure you would have been fine without my help…"

He shook his head against his chest. "N-No…You saved me…I know you did…"

"…Yeah, well…just don't go passing out over the edges of buildings anymore."

"Am I still a…an uncoordinated…piece of…?"

Lars shook his head. "No. Sorry…I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said that. I was just startled."

Despite being the last thing he wanted to do right now, he slowly thrusted himself away from Lars, rubbing his eyes. Matthew mutely stared at him, a longing desire hypnotizing him.

Lars couldn't take this odd behavior anymore. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he demanded. "It must be important if you nearly killed yourself over it."

Matthew nodded sadly. "Y-Yeah…I've…been meaning to-to tell you for a while, but…I either lost m-my nerve or got d-distracted…" He began to cry again, gently sobbing with his head hung low. "L-Lars, I…I love you. I-I understand if-if you don't feel the same, I-I just…just thought you should know…I-I think about you all the time, a-and when you're with me, my heart pounds until the point when I just can't stand it. Y-You're so talented and a-amazing and…and I'm just…b-boring…I-I…" His words drabbled off into nonsense, the clearness of his words dissolving.

Then something pressed against Matthew's face, cutting off his incomprehensible blabbering. He stared, confused, and was struck with motionlessness. _Why is…Lars' face…so close to mine?_ His eyes widened.

Lars rested his hand against the side of Matthew's head, parting his lips just slightly over Matthew's. Something strange and unfamiliar came over him in that moment. He wanted Matthew to just shut up…but…he wanted to embrace him as well. To let him know he was safe. He shut his eyes, pulling Matthew close. These conflicted, unusual emotions that he got when Matthew was around…were these the same things Matthew was experiencing? He held his breath, hearing his heart pounding in his ears.

Matthew could have sworn there were fireworks lighting up the night behind him, though it may have just been the city lights illuminating the room. The world could have been ending, and he would have hardly given the Earth as much as a final glance. He was captured in Lars' spell. His lips pinched together against Lars'.

Their lips made a light smack sound as Lars pulled away, leaving Matthew leaning forward with a dazed air. Matthew's half-lidded eyes slowly gazed up at Lars, cheeks now bright red rather than pale.

Lars quickly turned away and apologized. "Sorry. That…probably wasn't the right thing to do."

"It's okay," Matthew cooed. A calm smile bent his lips. He giggled shyly and looked down. "…I liked it…" His eyes glistened. "…Does that mean…you…?"

Lars nervously cleared his throat. "…Y-uh…Yeah…"

"Say it then," Matthew ordered cutely.

"S-Say what?" he asked obliviously.

"Say that you like me!"

Lars huffed. "Fine…I…appreciate…"

"Nooo. Say, 'Matthew, I like you.'"

Lars glared at the ceiling, blushing with embarrassment. He grumbled nervous nothings to himself. _What did I get myself into?_ He rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to Matthew and sighed. "Matthew…"

Matthew ushered him to continue. "Yes?" he asked innocently.

"…I…really like you."

Matthew had never smiled so brightly before. He launched himself back into Lars' arms with an excited squeal that made Lars flinch. Matthew laughed with absolute joy, resting his face in the crook of Lars' neck. Lars awkwardly patted Matthew's back. "Alright, that's enough," he murmured, shoving him away, only to have Matthew attach back to him like a magnet. He sighed. "Come on, Matt…"

Matthew giggled and looked up at him. "'Matt'? Is that my nickname now?" Matthew looked down, the loud roar of Lars' stomach enough to frighten him. "Oh! I just remembered!" He jumped to his feet, stumbling through the room. "I hope supper didn't burn!" Stars rushed before Matthew's eyes. He stood still and held his head, propping his other arm against his bedside table. "I-I stood up too fast…"

"You need to calm down," Lars grumbled, scooping Matthew into his arms. "Just be quiet for a few minutes."

Matthew enfolded his arms around Lars' neck, nodding. Lars carried him downstairs, Matthew's eyes never leaving Lars' face. Lars kept a blank stare while watching his step down the stairway. He had a sense of relief. Matthew was the only thing that made him feel human, or of some worth. Now, with their feelings for one another revealed, Lars had no idea how to respond. Would he have to…date Matthew now? Never having been in a real relationship before, he was totally lost. Sure, there were some girls that thought they loved him. They swooned over his ability to paint and fanned themselves at his romantic words. Unfortunately, he proved them wrong. It never lasted with any of them. He glanced down at Matthew, still longingly staring up at him. He rolled his eyes and looked away again, making Matthew giggle.

He set Matthew down once they entered the kitchen. Matthew scurried to the stove and hurriedly checked their supper. "Phew. Just in time."

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Ten chapters! :D Thanks so much to my followers and everyone else reading my story! I hope you carry on until the ending! I love reviews, so please feel free to do so! I get so excited when I see I have a new follower/review. It means a lot. Thanks again! *****


	11. Chapter 11

Dinner passed by blissfully, especially for Matthew, grinning sweetly the entire time. He'd talk aimlessly to Lars, sometimes not talking about anything in particular at all. The food began to go cold on Matthew's plate, forgotten between the conversations. The plate before Lars was stripped spotless, however. His hunger never ended. And yet, neither did his undivided attention towards Matthew. He took every word that spilled from Matthew's mouth into his ears. He didn't dare interrupt Matthew, not once. His voice soothed him, even if the words didn't make sense. Lars glanced out the window. It was dark and snow was falling again. It must have been freezing outside. He gulped and returned his eyes to Matthew, not looking forward to walking home in such weather.

Matthew paused and glanced at his watch. "It is late, isn't it?" he asked, as if reading his mind. He noticed the heavy snow descending outside. _He can't go home in that,_ he thought. When he turned back to Lars, he was already standing up. "H-Hey…where are you going?" Matthew asked.

"Home," he stated, as if it were a ridiculous question.

"You can't go out in that weather," Matthew exclaimed. "You'll freeze!" He pouted. "You're just going to have to stay here."

Lars blinked. "What?"

"It's no trouble, really," he insisted. "The house is big enough for _ten_ people, easy. You won't take up any space." Matthew stood from the table, pushing his chair back.

Lars sighed through his nose. "…I don't know."

Matthew shook his head. "No, you're staying. I will not allow you to go out in that weather. That's final." He put his hands on his hips, putting on the cutest, stern face he could muster. How could one say "No" to that? It turns out, you don't.

"Fine. I'll stay. Just one night."

Matthew grinned. "Good. You must be tired from all the work you did today. Why don't you take a shower, okay? My clothes might not fit you…I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind if I let you borrow some of his clothes."

Lars looked down. "What's wrong with my clothes?" he asked, obliviously. He stared down at his old, smelly coat. It must have once been very nice and expensive, but years of constant wearing have really taken its toll.

"W-Well…you don't want to sleep in sweaty, dirty clothes, do you? I can wash your clothes for you, too."

He turned away, smelling his sleeve. _Do I…smell…?_ He glanced at Matthew like a wounded puppy, and it melted Matthew's heart.

"O-Oh, Lars, I didn't mean…I-I'm sorry…" _I didn't mean to insult him…Now I've made it awkward…_

"…Your shower…," Lars said quietly. "…It has…warm water?"

Now his melted heart began to shatter as well. _He doesn't have hot water, either?_ "Y-Yeah, it does," he replied sadly. He took Lars' hand gently into his own. "Come on, I'll show you where the shower is."

_I'm so ignorant,_ Lars thought scornfully._ Of course he has hot water in his house._

Just like everything else in the house, the bathroom was humongous. There were two marble sinks connected to each other in front of a large mirror, sparkling with cleanliness. There was a small, cubical shower on one side of the bathroom and a large bath tub on the other, with dials and buttons to make jet streams and massaging gusts of water. The shower was just as complex to Lars, with, what his exaggerating mind seemed to comprehend, hundreds of buttons and knobs. There were several bottles of cleaning supplies, all different brands and for different uses. Matthew reached into a cabinet and placed two large fluffy towels on the counter beside the sink. "I'll find you some clothes from Alfred's room. I'll be right back…" he nervously slumped out of the room quickly in search of clothes, leaving Lars alone in this spaceship of a bathroom.

Curiosity got the better of him after only waiting a few minutes. He roamed around the bathroom, staring addled into the strange, oddly shaped toilet. _Is nothing simplistic anymore?_ Lars had to wonder. He stood over the bath tub, big enough to be considered a Jacuzzi. He glared at the buttons and gadgets surrounding it, hesitating to push one to see what it did. The shower seemed more like a torture devise rather than a place to cleanse. He pondered over the showerhead, seeing as there was a strange cord that attached to it and the bathroom wall. He reached his hand out to it with a fascinated frown. He fondled with it for a moment until it became unhinged and plummeted. The cord tightened and the showerhead pummeled into the shower wall, emitting a loud bang. Lars nervously gathered it into his hands and tried redirecting it back to where it originally was. He succeeded only slightly, as now the shower head was tilted a little to the left. Lars stepped away from the shower, whistling nonchalantly.

Matthew returned with neatly folded clothes in his arms. He looked questioningly at Lars. "Are you alright?" he asked. "I thought I heard something."

Lars shrugged. "I didn't hear anything."

Matthew tilted his head but went along with it, placing the clothes on the counter. "Here are some clothes. I hope they fit. When you're done, just lend me your clothes and I'll wash them for you."

Lars glanced over his shoulder at the shower. He wanted to ask how to operate the damn thing, but didn't want to make a fool of himself again.

"Take as much time as you need," Matthew said, leaving the room. He blushed madly at the thought of Lars, naked in his house. He shut the door behind him, covering his blood-red cheeks with his hands.

Lars' coat fell to the floor. It was the first time he's taken it off today. Next was to come off was his shirt, a simple, long sleeve shirt, spotted with holes. He approached the shower, as if it were a beast to be tamed. _Just don't…break anything, Lars,_ he reminded himself and turned what seemed to be the lever for the water. Thankfully, he was correct. Water spouted from the tilted shower head. Normally, he'd just bathe in cold water, but he noticed that the water grew warmer and warmer until steam filled up the shower. He extended his arm into the gentle rush of water, sighing. He removed the rest of his clothing and stepped inside. "Oh, my God," he muttered with another loud sigh. This was the best feeling he had ever experienced. The hot water splashed against his grime-covered skin, slowly melting away the dirt embedded on his flesh. His spiked hair fell into his face, becoming limp as the water made it heavy. Warmth enveloped him, releasing the cold buried within him.

He randomly picked up one of the many bottles and poured it into his cupped hand. He didn't know if it was body wash or shampoo, but that didn't stop him from lathering his entire body in it. It smelled sweet and made his skin and hair smooth.

He could have stayed there for hours, standing in that little cube with water rushing down his chest and back, gliding across his skin. He completely ignored all the other little gadgets the shower had to offer. This was more than enough.

Remembering that this wasn't his house and that Matthew was still waiting for him, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He wrapped one of the towels around his waist, using the other to dry his face and hair. To avoid growing cold again, he swiftly dried himself and put on the clothing Matthew had placed out for him. Simple, old pajamas and an "I 'heart' N Y" t-shirt. They probably haven't been worn in a while. Perhaps they were too big or too small for Matthew's brother, and he decided not to wear them? Whatever the reason, they fit Lars well enough and made him feel comfortable. He gathered his clothes and left the steaming bathroom. He set the clothes in a clothes basket by the bathroom door, assuming Matthew placed it there for that particular reason.

He ventured downstairs to find Matthew curled up on the couch watching tv with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. On the table was another cup, waiting for Lars. Matthew turned his head and looked at Lars. "Everything okay?" he asked, beaming cutely.

Lars nodded. "Yes. I placed my clothes in the basket outside the bathroom."

"That's good." Matthew shifted himself over a little, patting the space beside him. "Sit with me," he said. Lars did just that, reaching out for the hot chocolate and bringing the sweet liquid to his lips. He still sat up, his buttocks just barely on the couch. Matthew tilted forward and looked up at him, his mouth parting as he stared at him.

Lars glanced back at him. "What?" he asked before taking another sip.

"I've never seen your hair like that," he murmured, referring to Lars' hair now down, rather than spiked up. He held a pillow up to his face and looked down. "It's very…N-Never mind."

Lars placed the mug down. "It's very what?" he asked.

Matthew mumbled something against the pillow, but it was barely audible.

"What?" Lars asked again.

"It's very…sexy," Matthew repeated, shoving his face into the pillow completely.

Lars blinked, taking a moment to absorb the complement. "…Oh…Uh…Thanks…" he said.

Matthew placed the pillow on his lap and looked at Lars. He suddenly found himself hating the way Lars was sitting. "Relax a little," he said, pushing him back with his arm. Lars' back bumped against the back rest of the couch.

"Um…alright," he mumbled passively. He shrugged his back into the couch and relaxed. He stared up at the television for a moment. Some odd show he's never seen was playing. Of course, he didn't have a t.v. to begin with, so he really didn't know of any shows. Becoming bored, his attention returned to Matthew.

"Hey, Lars?" Matthew asked.

"Yes?"

"…Can I…rest my head on your shoulder?"

Lars hesitantly nodded, making a little room for him. "Yeah. Go ahead."

He blushed and scooted next to him. His head slowly fell onto Lars' shoulder. "Lars," he whispered tiredly, followed by a soft yawn. "Thank you for all you did today…with the decorating and, you know, saving my life."

Lars nodded nervously. "Yeah…Yeah, you're welcome. Um, thanks for letting me borrow your shower."

"No problem." He sighed, snaking his arms around Lars' arm. There was a dramatic change in Lars' overall air. He felt…warmer. Matthew glanced up at Lars, "Hey, do you-"

Poor, tuckered-out Lars was already passed out. Quiet snores resonated from his mouth, which was slightly ajar. Besides the slow, repetitive rising and falling of his chest, he was completely motionless. He was dead to the world.

"Goodnight, Lars," Matthew murmured into his ear, kissing his cheek.


	12. Chapter 12

Sunlight pierced through the curtains covering the windows of the home. The decorations scattered perfectly among the house flickered with the morning luminescence. The rays of light shining through the blinds eased across Lars' face, reaching his closed eyelids. His arm dangled off the side of the couch with his mouth ajar. A soft snore emitted from his throat.

As the light crawled over his head, his face shriveled up with discomfort at the brightness. Barely awake, he tossed himself to the opposite direction of the light. He groaned as he blinked his eyes open. Rest was no longer a surreal idea to Lars. He awoke refreshed, warm, and comfortable. He rotated himself back to his original position and lifted his head. The house was just as it was when he fell asleep, only Matthew was not beside him. He inhaled a sharp breath through his nose as he stretched his arms and lifted himself from the couch. With that, his nose picked up a strong, sweet aroma.

"Morning!" Matthew's soft voice called out from behind the couch. Lars twisted his head and saw Matthew, holding a pan by the handle in one hand and a spatula in the other. He had messy bed-head and was wearing soft, fluffy pajamas. "Hope you like pancakes," he cooed, returning to the kitchen with a little skip in his step.

Lars stood, his back snapping as he stretched and twisted the stiffness from his body. He stared at the blinds, seeing a long forgotten sight. Sunshine.

His feet shuffled against the floor while making his way to the kitchen. There, already set up on a plate, was a high stack of pancakes, alongside a bottle of maple syrup and a steaming hot mug of hot chocolate.

"Go ahead and eat," Matthew said, grinning tiredly.

"…You made this…?" Lars asked, questioningly, eyes glued to the delicious breakfast. Hesitantly, he sat at the table, glancing over at Matthew, cooking like a natural.

"Of course! I make pancakes every morning. They're my favorite."

His smile was different than usual. There was something about the way Matthew looked at him that made Lars grow nervous. Blood pumped to his cheeks. "Thank you," he mumbled, lowering his head to hide the shy hue of pink on his face.

"You're welcome." It wasn't long before Matthew was sitting beside him with his own plate of pancakes. He practically drowned them in maple syrup, whereas Lars only used a little.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Matthew asked out of the blue, stuffing his mouth with a large bite of drenched pancakes. His large, curious eyes stared up into Lars'.

Lars eyed him suspiciously. He shrugged, taking another bite. "I don't know. I don't celebrate Christmas."

A gasp escaped Matthew lips. "Why?!" he asked, as if the statement physically injured him.

"…No one to celebrate it with…" His eyes trailed down to the mahogany table. "Christmas is just another day, like any other."

A dagger pierced Matthew's heart. Sorrow cloaked his face. "…You don't…do anything different at all?"

Lars shook his head. "I get a letter from my sister with a little money to get me by. That's about all I get out of Christmas."

"Nobody comes to see you?" he asked Lars.

"Why would they?"

"Because it's Christmas, and you matter just as much as everyone else…! You…should get presents and…spend time with people you love…" He rested his hand against Lars' arm. It was then that he realized he had never seen the skin of Lars' arms before. They were always covered by that coat of his, which was now being washed. His skin was pale, yet he had just enough muscle on his bones to be considered a little "buff". There were a few faded scars across his flesh, but they were hardly noticeable. They were most likely from some sort of enduring, physical work…

"Matt?" Lars asked softly.

"Hm?" he answered, returning his gaze to his face.

Lars said nothing, only stared at the air silently.

Matthew leaned closely to him. "Yes?" he responded again.

He obviously wanted to speak, but he prevented himself from doing so. He struggled internally, searching for the words in his mind. "You've done a lot for me…Buying the painting, the food, shower, place to sleep…the appreciation you have towards me…I can't…pay you back in return…I have nothing to give you. Doesn't that…bother you?"

With the upmost confidence, Matthew shook his head. "No. Because I don't want you to repay me with…physical items…I just want you, Lars. I want your attention. I want to see your talent firsthand. I want…your love." He turned his head away. "Maybe I am being a little…selfish by giving you all these material items just so you'll like me…But I want to make sure you're being taken care of. I hate to see you…living like you do…Starving in a cold, run-down house…I can't stand to see you like that, Lars…"

"…Matt…"

"…Hm?"

"I think…as long as you're with me…I'll be okay."

Matthew lifted his head, grinning sweetly. "Yeah…I think so too. That's why you need to spend Christmas with me, so I can keep an eye on you."

Lars beamed a warm, grateful smile. It wasn't an obvious smile, but it was indeed there. Dazzling lights danced in his eyes as the kind look flushed over his face. The smile was so natural, like it had been there all along, just waiting to reappear. "I agree," he said softly.

Matthew leaned forward, lips so close to his that he could feel Lars' breath. "I-I like your smile…" he murmured shyly. "You should…do that more often."

"I'll consider it…" he whispered.

"That's good…"

The scent of the syrup tickled inside Lars' nose. The smell was strong on Matthew's breath. It made it sweet and so, so inviting. Yet Lars restricted himself and turned his head to the side just enough to disconnect their nearly touched lips. He stared blankly at Matthew, wondering what he was thinking.

"Nooo," Matthew whimpered pathetically. He aligned his lips back with Lars'. His hands held Lars' head in place. "I want you to kiss me again…," he whimpered.

"That was a one-time-thing," Lars grumbled quietly, obviously lying.

"Then I'll just have to kiss _you_," Matthew said confidently.

"Fine…"

"…Fine…" He kissed softly, so gently and calmly. His eyes fluttered shut, caught in a bliss. He could hear Lars' throat contract as he gulped. Matthew pulled away and looked up at him. "Will you be my boyfriend?"

The question startled Lars. The eyes staring back at him, longing for an answer, made his heart pump violently. "I-If you want me to…," he murmured.

"It's not just my decision, Lars," Matthew stated sternly. "You get to either agree or disagree. It's not what I want, it's what you want." He smiled reassuringly, only wanting Lars to be happy and comfortable.

Matthew was all Lars cared about. The thought of being somehow responsible for hurting Matthew, either physically or mentally, tore him apart. If he said yes now…if he became Matthew's boyfriend…he'd have to swear to himself to treat him better than he treated himself and others in the past. There was a reason no one came to see him during the holidays. Matthew just couldn't know about it. He was different now. That was his past self.

After a moment's thought, Lars' eyes returned to Matthew. "I want to," he replied. _I promise…I won't treat you badly. I really do love you._

"I want to, too," Matthew said, grinning softly. "So…are we…?"

"…Yeah." Lars took Matthew's hand, holding him firmly in his own.

Both of their faces became the same dark shade of lovely red. Nervous grins lit up their eyes as well. Matthew's fingers wrapped around Lars' hand.

"I love you."

"Love you, too…Matt…"


	13. Chapter 13

Finally, after about a week of staying with him, Lars convinced Matthew to let him return back to his house for a brief moment. Claiming to have a surprise for him, Lars gathered a few of his things to take to his house. With a bag over his shoulder, full of his things, he began to return to Matthew's home, which was, more or less, his home now. As he did, he passed by the stores with the elaborate decorations and ideal gifts. Of course Lars could not afford any of these things. And if buying anything came to his mind, it would only be to get something for Matthew. Though…he did suppose that easel was very nice…

"I'm back," Lars said, setting his bag on the kitchen table. He was then greeted with a hug. Matthew's arms wrapped around the trunk of his body, his face snuggling into his chest. "Glad you're back!" he welcomed sweetly. "What did ya bring over?" he asked, looking up with big eyes.

"I'll show you." He unzipped the bag and showed Matthew what was inside. Old, dirty tubes of paint, a painting palette, a few canvases, paintbrushes of several different sizes, and a collapsible easel, no doubt beyond its years of usage. It was old and on the verge of becoming nothing more but splintered wood.

"Are you going to paint?" Matthew asked. "Can I watch?"

"Actually," Lars said, "I was wondering if I could…paint a portrait…of you." He gulped, looking away shamefully. "Since…I can't really afford to buy you anything, I was hoping you could accept it as a Christmas gift?"

Matthew jumped gleefully. Happiness brought him excitement as he pulled on Lars' arm. "Really? You will? Lars, that's better than any gift you could ever buy me! Can we do it now?"

As he scratched the back of his head nervously, he nodded. "Sure, just let me get a few things set up." Lars glanced around the house a little. "Here." He grabbed a stool and took it to the opposite side of the room, where the light was stronger and had enough space for Lars' materials. "Sit there," he said. "But you have to do what I say, alright?"

Matthew giggled. "Yes, sir!" he said jokingly. He sat where he told him to and watched Lars set up his creaky easel and paints. After he did so, he looked at Matthew, sitting and swaying his body back and forth. He approached him and cupped his hand around Matthew's chin, moving his head around to an ideal position. He tilted his head this way and that way until he found what he was looking for. "There. Stay just like that. Be perfectly still." He backed away and stood in front of his canvas and picked up his paints.

Matthew blushed as Lars stood there, staring at him, seeming to be gathering information about his body and storing it in his mind. He laughed nervously. "Y-You sure you don't need me to take my clothes off?" he teased.

"Shut up," he grumbled, focusing on the blank canvas before him. In his mind, he drew out Matthew's face, imaged it on the lifeless canvas. When he finally saw it, he went straight to work. As he did, he fell silent, cutting off communication towards Matthew, obeying Lars and staying still and quiet. A growing urge to say something gnawed at Matthew, but he didn't want to disturb him. He knew he was busy and in some sort of "zone".

About forty minutes went by, and Matthew began to ache. He longed to move around and stretch. But Lars was so in focus at the moment. Should he ask anyways? As he considered this, a knock sounded from the door. Lars was startled and pulled away from the painting before his hand jerked the paintbrush up. He sighed and looked up, seeming annoyed.

"Can I…go get the door?" Matthew asked, somewhat relieved that he had a chance to move. Lars grumbled, "Yeah, go ahead." He studied the painting from a distance to see how it was coming along. Of course he wasn't going to allow Matthew to see it.

Matthew stood and bent his back and arms. The knock sounded again. "Coming!" Matthew trotted down the hall to the front door. The door swung open and Matthew let out a surprised, gleeful voice. "Papa!"

"Surprise!"

Father and son embraced in a warm, welcoming hug. The older of the two placed loving kisses on Matthew's cheeks in a European gesture. Matthew had just a few more inches on him than his father. His father had the same, curly mane of hair as Matthew's, though his hair wasn't as long and was paled due to age.

"Oh, it's so good to be home," Francis sighed, patting his son on the shoulder and stepping inside. Francis' voice glowed with a thick, French accent.

His attention was caught by a strange, slightly frightening-looking man standing in his house. "Matthew," he said, tilting his head to the side. "…Who might this be?"

Matthew skipped back inside, standing between the two. "Papa, this is Lars. Lars, this is my Papa, Francis."

"I suppose you're a friend, then?" Francis asked, smiling kindly, the skin around his mouth wrinkling as he did.

Lars glanced over at Matthew. Does he want to keep their relationship a secret…? Or will he want to admit to him?

"Actually, Papa…"

Apparently he was going to tell him. Matthew held Lars' hand, stained with drops of paint.

"Lars is…my boyfriend."

Francis' smile dissolved. He stared at Matthew, then at Lars…and back to Matthew again. He was expressionless, and Lars was just waiting for him to explode with disapproval. Lars glanced down at Matthew. He couldn't really read Matthew's face. Was he afraid? Nervous? Confident?

Francis approached the both of them, eyeing Lars mostly. He gave the pair a questioning stare. Lars stiffened his back. _Here it comes…_

A bright grin returned to Francis' face. "Well, Lars, welcome to the family!" He reached up and patted Lars' shoulder. "You just treat my boy good, you understand?"

"Uh…Yes, sir…" To say Lars was surprise would only be stating the obvious. Had…Matthew already told him he was gay?

Francis chuckled. "You look confused." He waved his hand and shut his eyes in a relaxed manor. "I couldn't care less about who Matthew dates. As long as she OR he is a respectable, loving person, right?" He glared at him for a moment, then patted his son on the cheek.

"Thanks, Papa," Matthew said, seeming relieved.

Francis noticed the out of place objects in the kitchen. "What's this?" he asked, seeing the easel and paints. "Is someone painting?"

"Lars paints," Matthew stated. "He wanted to do a portrait of me!"

"Mon Dieu…" Francis was looking down at the canvas, in shock. "This is…beautiful…" The painting wasn't complete, far from it, really. But Matthew's face was just beginning to show through. His skin seemed real. Lars had somehow gotten the paint to mimic his exact skin tone. His face was captured so perfectly, so beautifully. Each little facial detail was enhanced flawlessly.

"Y-You did this?" He asked Lars.

He nodded. "Yes, sir…"

Matthew stood next to Lars. "I want to see! I haven't seen it yet!"

"No. You can't see it."

"Aww! Why not?!"

"Because it's your Christmas gift. I don't want to spoil it."

Matthew pouted. "Fine…"

"Now sit back down so I can finish."

He sighed. "Okay…"

"Hey." Lars tilted Matthew's head up with his thumb. "No frowning."

Matthew blinked then giggled, finding it funny how he said that with such a straight face. "Okay!"

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Hey! Hope everyone is enjoying so far! I don't mean to sound greedy or needy or anything like that, but, I'd like to see some more reviews ^^"" I enjoy reading them like you wouldn't believe! Maybe you could include what **_**you'd**_** like to see happen later on in the story, or just some criticism! I'd love some inspiration! Oh, and another thing, since finals and Christmas break are coming up this week, I might not have as much time to post new chapters for the remaining of December. I'm not saying I won't, just a heads-up if it does happen. Until next time, NedCan shippers! :3**


	14. Chapter 14

Lars aligned Matthew back into place and resumed his painting. His eyes were constantly moving. From Matthew, to the canvas, to the paints beside him, and back. A very repetitive pattern he kept up. Besides the light tapping of the brush against the canvas, the room was silent. A warm cup of hot chocolate stood by itself on the table next to Lars. Not but one or two sips were taken from the drink. It was beginning to grow cold.

Francis stood over Lars' shoulder, watching him paint. This had been the first in quite some time since anyone had ever watched him paint. He wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with it or not so he just pretended he wasn't there at all. Francis had said something to him, but Lars didn't quite hear him. He backed away and left the room, unknowingly to Lars.

For a moment, as he looked back up at Matthew, his shoulders relaxed a little and he tilted his head to the side. His body ceased to move. It wasn't until this moment that he realized how…perfect Matthew was. The way to describe it wasn't so much like the beauty of a woman, nor was it handsomeness of a man. It was a mixture of the two. Because Matthew was not a woman. He knew that, and he would never treat him as such (as long as that was what he wanted). And yet, he wasn't masculine. Matthew had delicate, soft features, both in his looks and personality. Lars just had an urge to protect him and shelter him. And love him.

"Lars?" Matthew murmured. "Are you alright?" Forgetting to stay still, he tilted his head with concern. _Why is he looking at me like that?_

Nervously, Lars cleared his throat and turned away. "Uh, yeah. My eyes are just tired."

Matthew looked at the clock hanging on the wall above him. "I guess so. You've been working for an hour since Papa got home. You should take a break."

"Good idea." He set his brushes down then took a big gulp of the hot chocolate, even though it was more like room-temperature chocolate now. It took a moment to realize Matthew's father was not in the room anymore. "Hey…where did your father go?" he asked.

"He went to get you something, remember?" he replied. "Or were you too busy to hear him?" Matthew giggled.

"Yeah. Too busy."

"Ah, here we are!" Francis returned, smiling brightly and arms behind his back, obviously holding something. "This is for you, Lars. It's just a little present for all you've done."

Not knowing how to respond, he reluctantly held his hands out. "You…don't have to give me anything…What, um…what have I done, exactly…?"

Francis chuckled. "So humble! For this painting of course! And for making my son happy."

In Lars' hands was a large, heavy bottle, with French text written in beautiful cursive. Fine wine. Had it not been a gift, and an expensive one at that, Lars would have immediately tossed it. Self loathing inflated his heart. He lifted his head so he didn't have to look at it. As calmly as he could, he spoke, "Thank you…but I don't…drink."

"Well, we have enough wine for an army in the house alone. Take it anyways. Maybe you'll change your mind in the future, hm?" He smiled that fatherly grin all good fathers seemed to be capable of.

Lars set the bottle down, avoiding looking at it at all costs. He instead turned his nervous eyes to Matthew, seeking comfort.

Matthew frowned sadly. _Lars…did something…happen?_ "Hey, wanna watch t.v. for a while? Just to take a break from the painting?" What he really meant was, _I want to talk to you. Make sure you're okay._

Lars nodded, looking slightly distracted.

"Well, you two have fun with that," Francis said, putting his coat back on, followed by his shoes. "I'm going grocery shopping. I'm making supper, and no use arguing about it, I insist!"

"O-Okay, Papa. Thank you!" The second he left, Matthew, quiet literally, dragged Lars to the couch, pulling him down and sitting right beside him.

"…What?" Lars asked. "I just said I don't drink…nothin' wrong with that."

"I-I know…but…you looked so…so…"

"I'm fine."

"Did something…happen to you?"

"No."

Matthew sighed. _Why do you always insist on hiding things?_ he wondered. "Well…if you ever want to talk about it, let me know." He knew something happened, but he wasn't going to force it out of him.

The two sat in silence beside one another. There was pain in Lars' eyes, fear of the truth he was hiding. The past was behind him. And that's where he wanted it to stay. He understood that Matthew was concerned about him and only wanted to help. But this was an internal battle. Something he had to handle on his own.

He looked down at Matthew's pale, but elegant hand, now resting on his knee. A tender smile eased on Matthew's lips. Words were not needed for Matthew to tell Lars that he cared. The meaningful silence was more than enough to get the message across. A sort of connection was made between them; a soundless trail connecting their minds. Lars nodded, overlapping his hand with his own. "Thanks."

Matthew positioned his head against Lars' shoulder. He sighed, embracing Lars' warmth. Lars didn't have to tell him his every secret if he didn't want to. Accepting this fact, he decided that, if the time comes, Lars will bring it up when he wants to. Bright, violet eyes stared up at Lars, completely, hopelessly in love.

Slowly Lars' eyes shifted down to meet those of Matthew. "Why do you always look at me like that?" he asked, not realizing that he himself had a similar facial expression when he saw him.

"I can't help it. You're too handsome." He batted his eyelashes cutely at him.

Lars turned away. "N…No."

"Yes!"

Lars shook his head.

Matthew nodded.

Lars grunted, face red and his body flustered by the complement. "Yeah, well…you're cute," he said, covering the complement up with a voice attempting to disguise it as an insult. But it wasn't. It was a legitimate statement that he meant.

Matthew laughed sweetly, hiding his face in Lars' shoulder like a giggly child.

Lars smiled as he looked away. He stroked his hand through the golden, curly hair.


	15. Chapter 15

"Look, you need to stay home," Matthew insisted, peering down at the other, having been forcefully bundled up in the guest bedroom bed. After the night Francis returned home, Lars came down with a high fever. Hardheaded as he was, he demanded he still go to classes today. Matthew would not have it, however. "It's freezing out there, Lars. You'll only get worse if you go out today."

Sickly sweat beaded down Lars' flushed face. He coughed into his arm. "I'm tellin' ya, I'm fine," he grumbled through a hoarse voice. "I'm goin'."

Matthew sighed, shaking his head and grinning. "I know you want to be with me every second of every day, but I'll be right back to take care of you. Okay?"

Lars huffed, then coughed again. "Sh-shut up…"

"You know I'm right." He pushed Lars back into bed and patted the top of Lars' sweat-soaked head. "I'll be back before you know it. Can I get you anything before I leave? Some water maybe?"

Accepting his defeat, he rolled his eyes. "Nah. 'm fine. Go on."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

Matthew nodded reluctantly. "…Alright. See you later then." He leaned over to kiss Lars' forehead.

"Stop," Lars murmured embarrassedly. "…You're gonna get sick, too."

"Oh, fine. Well, if you do need anything, Papa is downstairs. He'll get you what you need."

"Wait…You got a…notebook…and…something I can write with?"

Confused, Matthew tilted his head at the odd request. Believing that he did, he checked the bedside stand and did indeed find an old, unused notebook with lined paper and a pen. He set the objects beside Lars. "There you are. Bye…!" He waved goodbye and left the room, soundlessly shutting the door behind him.

The walk to campus was dull without Lars beside him. The sky had darkened again. Clouds, brimming with snow, hung heavily in the air. Hazed Christmas lights trailed down the streets, growing dimmer with distance.

Puffs of warm breath emitted from Matthew's mouth as he breathed the frigid air. With an empty space rather than Lars by his side, the Christmas lights seemed meaningless and unimportant. He sighed, gazing up tiredly at the campus buildings. As he did, he noticed a familiar face. Of course this face did not recognize Matthew, or notice him for that matter. Matthew approached Antonio, the Spanish boy Lars had "introduced" to him to just a few days ago. Antonio was not alone, however. A younger, shorter man was with him, with a scornful frown on his face and arms crossed over his chest. He had reddish-brown hair and a curl protruding from the top of his head. Despite the other's angered appearance, Antonio grinned sweetly at the other, then glanced around. This had apparently annoyed the already edgy young man.

"What?" he growled at Antonio. "You've been acting like some damn stalker's on your trail." There was a hint of Italian in his voice. "Quit it. You're freaking me out."

Antonio redirected his attention to the flustered Italian. "Hm? Oh, sorry, Lovino. I found out the other day that a…um…person I know goes here…and we're not too fond of each other."

Had Antonio not had said that, Matthew would have been on his way. But something told him this "person" was Lars…He had to hear what Antonio had to say about Lars. He obviously knew Lars longer than Matthew had. Despite it being completely unavailing, he concealed himself behind a tree and listened.

This statement seemed to only anger this Lovino even more. Not so much in an annoyed manor, but in a concerned manor. "Who?" he demanded.

Antonio shook his head. "This guy named Lars. I knew him before I came to North America. I-uh, heh, might have a thing for his sister when I was little…"

Lovino's cheeks burned red. He punched Antonio's shoulder out of frustration.

"N-Not anymore, though, Lovi!" Antonio whined. "Anyways…he was a jerk, and we'd always fight about stupid stuff…"

Matthew looked down at his feet, pondering with doubt. _Lars doesn't seem to be one to cause a fight…He's so laid back and passive…_

Lovino seemed to be losing interest in the story. "Yeah, yeah, you two fought when you were kids, so what?"

Antonio gawked at Lovino, fear in his innocent eyes. "You don't know what he did _after_ he moved here. From what I heard," his voice softened to almost a whisper, but loud enough for Matthew to be able to hear. "From what I heard…it sounded like he went crazy…"

"Crazy? Crazy how?"

"Just…_crazy._ Lost his mind. I heard his artwork wasn't selling good, lost his money and he panicked…" He sighed. "It's sad really. He didn't have anyone to go to…"

Lovino tried to look like he cared more than he actually did, putting on a sympathetic face. "Poor guy," he muttered.

"Yeah…" The two went off onto a different topic and began to walk away. Their concern for Lars didn't seem to last long, nor did it bring them any great worry. They went on about their business, as if they had just conversed about the weather. Matthew, however, didn't treat it as such. He held his hand against his chest, leaning against the tree. What he had heard left him with more questions now than ever about Lars._ What…what exactly…happened to him?_ He stared up at the gray sky while worry settled in his heart. _Crazy?_ he thought. _Did he…do something awful? Did he hurt someone?_

Matthew's feet began to sink into the snow below him, his thoughts weighing him down. He would never leave Lars, and he wouldn't allow Lars to leave him without a damn good reason. Even if Lars were to "go crazy" again, he'd care for him in any way possible. He'd never give up on Lars. Thoughts of Lars' home replayed in his mind. Imagine. Having to live in a place like that, with no one to lean on, no way to seek help, financially or emotionally. At least Matthew had his brother and father, Lars had no one when he came here with his ambition of selling his art. Optimistically hoping for the best for Lars, Matthew stood tall and dashed down the campus. He would make a difference in Lars' life. That was Matthew's goal.


	16. Chapter 16

Matthew might as well have spent the day at home, tending to Lars. Anxious about the conversation he overheard at the beginning of the day, he was unable to retain his focus. Perhaps he would have been better off not even knowing what he now knew. The information was vague, however, and didn't have a clear definition. Going "crazy" could mean anything, couldn't it? A small mental breakdown…or…maybe he just didn't want to interact with other people for a while. Whatever the case, Matthew wanted to find out. He wouldn't ask directly, of course. It could be a touchy subject with Lars, and he didn't want Lars to become strained with painful memories.

Just in a matter of hours, the weather took a turn for the worst. Harsh gusts of winter winds, combined with heavy snow, blurred Matthew's vision and slowed his pace. His glasses were hazed over with snow. It would be pointless to dry them, for they would only get wet again in just seconds.

With great urgency, Matthew rushed home as quickly as he could. The moment he stepped into his home, he stripped himself of the now soaked jacket. It fell to the floor, sounding much like a moist mop as it collapsed. Matthew's body was chilled, but the warmth of the house thawed his body.

"Papa, I'm home," he announced, rubbing his arms. He glanced into the kitchen, seeing Francis was just beginning to cook.

"Ah! Welcome back! Weather is awful out there isn't it? Here, I'll make you some soup to warm you up. You can take some up to Lars too."

Matthew sat at the table, hugging himself to keep warm. "Thank you. How's he doing, by the way? Maybe I should check on him?"

"I went to see how he was doing about thirty minutes after you left." A smile crept onto his scruffy face. "After that though, the poor boy's been sleeping like a log." Francis became still and silent, then pointed upwards to the second floor above him. "Listen," he whispered. "You can hear him snoring."

A soft, muffled sound emitted from above them, obviously Lars' voice. Weary, repetitive snores echoed from the room just above their heads. Matthew covered his face shyly and giggled. "Poor Larsy."

"I think you can go up and check on him," Francis insisted. Francis glanced over at the easel from the other day where Lars had been painting. The painting was covered by a cloth, so that Matthew wouldn't be able to see it. That idea was, of course, Lars'. It was his Christmas present after all. It had to be a surprise.

Matthew stood, still cold from the harsh weather. "Alright, I will." He huffed warm breath against his hands. Softly, he eased step by step upstairs. He leaned his ear against the door of the room Lars was sleeping in. "Sawing logs, huh, Lars?" he chuckled, mocking Lars' loud snoring.

The door creaked softly as he entered the room. "Woah."

Papers from the notebook he had given Lars were scattered across the bed and on the floor. The covers were a tangled mess around Lars' body from all the shifting and moving around he did. Matthew stepped into the room. Out of instinct, he began to clean, picking up the crumpled up papers. He unfolded a few to find sketches Lars drew. They ranged from animals to flowers, people, eyes, and objects such as chairs and vases.

Matthew placed them all neatly on the bedside table and looked at Lars, mouth wide open and arms hanging off the side of the bed, one hand clinched lightly over the notebook. Between his fingers, one could see a sketch drawn on it.

Matthew pried Lars' fingers open and carefully removed the notebook. Matthew beamed, his cheeks beginning to glow. He stared back at his own face. For a moment, he mistook the drawing for a mirror. How in the world did he capture his face like this and without a reference at that? He knew his face so well. "Oh, Lars…"

Lars' eyes blinked open drowsily. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and see the figure by his side. "Matt?" he murmured as he awoke.

Matthew looked beyond the paper and at Lars. "Oh, hey. Are you feeling better?" he asked, quickly placing the notebook in his pocket for safe keeping.

He shrugged in response. "A little I guess." Lars frowned and lifted himself from the bed, putting his weight on his elbows. "You're soaked."

"Well. I guess it was snowing pretty hard when I was walking home…heh…"

Lars looked out the window, seeing how drastically the weather had changed. "You…walked home in that?" he asked.

Matthew nodded. "It's alright. Just a little cold, wet weather is all."

"You're shivering."

"I, uh…I guess I am.

Lars shifted himself over. "Sit," he ordered softly.

"O-Okay." Matthew did as he asked and sat beside Lars, looking down and meeting his eyes. He pressed his hand against Lars' forehead. "Your fever went down. That's good." His hand drifted from his forehead through Lars' hair. He smiled calmly. "Papa's making us some soup. Are you hungry?"

Lars shivered as the cold hand ran through his hair. "When am not?" he asked sarcastically.

Matthew giggled. "True." He lowered his hand, stroking Lars' face as he did. Then, Matthew's smile disappeared. His mind wandered back to the conversation he overheard earlier today. _Crazy_ echoed in his head. _But…he couldn't be. Just look at him. He's so calm and sweet. He'd never hurt anyone._

"Are you alright?" Lars asked him, looking concerned.

"What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just really cold, is all."

After a quiet moment, Lars opened his arms to him. He turned his head away and muttered, "I'll…keep you warm."

Matthew gladly accepted this offer and fell onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around Lars' body, already feeling warm and toasty again. Lars' arms gently hugged Matthew's body, holding him close. Matthew grinned happily as he pulled Lars back down onto the bed, both of them now lying on the bed, overlapping the other. Matthew heard and felt Lars' sporadically beating heart against his ear. He sighed, welcoming back the warmth into his body.

"You _are_ cold," Lars stated in a murmur, holding him tighter.

"Yeah, I know." Matthew shut his eyes, putting all his trust in Lars, knowing he'd keep him safe and warm. Whatever it was that happened to Lars, it was in the past, and, to Matthew, it was nothing to worry about. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

"Yeah. No problem…" He leered at Matthew's soft, gentle face. He leaned down and kissed the tip of Matthew's nose, causing him to open his eyes.

Matthew looked like a surprised puppy. He grinned gratefully. "That was sweet, Lars," he cooed innocently. He returned the loving gesture with his own kiss, gently placing it on the bridge of Lars' nose.

Lars averted his eyes timidly. His heart thumped madly inside his chest. _Why are you so damn cute?_ he pondered agitatedly, obviously flustered.

A part of Matthew wanted to just violently attack Lars' face with kisses. Just one little part of him did. But he knew that Lars wasn't really one for doing such things. He seemed very isolated and preferred to keep a distance from others…even Matthew at some times. Right now, however, they were closer than they had ever been before, and Matthew was treasuring every second of this blissful moment.

"Hey," Matthew whispered. "Christmas is just a few days away now."

"Yeah. It is."

"I'm excited…to spend Christmas with you."

"…Me too."

"Lars…?

"Hm?"

"…I think…you're amazing…I just…thought I should tell you."

Lars blinked at the unexpected remark. He doubted this complement. "What makes you say that?"

Matthew shrugged. "I dunno. You just are. Everything about you, I like."

Lars was silent for a while. _Amazing? …No. Not me. _Lars concealed his face in the crook of Matthew's neck, his back hunched over to fit Matthew's curled body like a puzzle piece. "Thank you."

Matthew sighed calmly. He knew Lars was ambivalent about his statement, but at least he appreciated it. "You're welcome."


	17. Chapter 17

Matthew jerked away from Lars as a knock emitted from the other side of the door. "Boys, I've got some soup for you!" Francis' voice cooed.

"Coming, Papa!" Matthew unbarred the door and allowed his father inside, holding a tray with two freshly made bowls of soup, steaming hot and delectable.

Lars and Matthew each received their bowl, along with a roll of bread and a spoon. Lars sat upright in the bed, crossing his legs, while Matthew sat beside him. They sat at an averagely close distance to each other, considering there was a third person in the room with them.

"That ought to get your blood pumping again," Francis said, grinning as the two wasted no time in eating.

The hot soup and flaky, sweet bread was a perfect, light meal for such a day. The cold, dreary weather was no match for this appetizing, sweet broth, freshly made by an apparent great cook. Francis always had pride in his culinary talent and wanted to make certain others were obvious to it as well. Not just to show off, but to see that smile upon their faces that only a good meal could arouse.

Francis sat and crossed his legs. "So," he began, seeing as the two were nearing the end of their meals. "Lars, tell me about yourself. It's obvious you're an artist. Where did you learn to draw and paint so well?"

Lars placed his lips against the bowl and tilted it forward until he had sipped up every last drop of it. He placed the bowl back in his lap and responded to his question, "I'm…self taught. I teach myself for the most part. I came here to learn more and hopefully get a good job."

"And where are you from?"

"The Netherlands."

"Ah! You're Dutch!" He chuckled. "I spend a lot of time in France. Mainly for work, but it's also my home country. That's where my winery is, you know. What about your parents? What do they do for a living?"

Lars' muscles grew tight and his body became stiff as a rock. He stared blankly into his lap for quite a few seconds before he could give an answer. "I don't speak very much of my parents," he managed to say. It wasn't a set answer, but it was all he could muster out.

Francis saw this offended him and quickly apologized. "I-I'm terribly sorry, I see that's forbidden ground to you…S-So where do you live now?"

Unfortunately another question Lars would rather wish had never been uttered. To most, these were just casual, conversational questions. To Lars, they were an embarrassment.

Matthew sensed Lars' discomfort and quickly took charge. "He lives on the opposite side of town. Just a few blocks down from that French restaurant you like, remember?"

Francis nodded. "Ah, I know what you're talking about! There are a few cute little houses down there…and some…not so cute ones…Feel sorry for those living in those _shacks_." He shivered at the thought of those, dark, eerie, deteriorating houses. "Poor souls." Of course Francis meant well, but being hand served all his needs every day of his life has rendered him blind to the less fortunate lives of others. Despite being as kind as they come, he was still ignorant.

He cleared his throat and removed the idea from his thoughts. "Well, you're a mysterious one, Lars. But, you are respectable, and Matthew seems to care greatly for you. I think you're a fine, young man, and you're welcome to spend Christmas with us this year."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Lars nodded thankfully to Francis. "And thank you for the soup. It was very good."

Francis chuckled. "It was my pleasure." He stood and took the empty bowls from the two. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

As he left, Lars sighed, disappointed in himself. He had no right to be here…He was a peasant in the home of royalty. " 'Poor souls'," Lars echoed.

"H-He didn't…mean it like that…he doesn't know about…your house," Matthew insisted. He smiled calmly. "Don't…take offence to it, he just…doesn't know any better."

"Yeah…okay."

…

Snow began to envelop the ground, up to nearly a knee's height. The air was chilled with a light afternoon snow storm. The day before Christmas Eve. In all the time Lars had known him, Matthew had never seemed so excited and jubilant.

Lars began a fire in the fireplace, yet again wearing some of Matthew's brother's spare clothes. The spark grew into a roaring flame, cackling and snapping softly. Lars warmed the palms of his hands and sighed with satisfaction of the fire he created. He turned his head and spotted Matthew behind him, staring at him with an adorable, nervous grin spread across his cheeks. Lars stood straight and turned to him. "What's that look for?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Matthew's grin brightened. "Look up."

Lars did so and tilted his head up. "What the…" There above his head hung a little, delicate plant, vivid green and bearing bright red fruit. His eyes returned to Matthew. "Did…you put that there?"

"Perhaps," Matthew murmured sweetly. He took a silent leap and landed next to Lars. "Oh! Would you look at that! We're under the mistletoe together…!"

"Um…yeah. We are."

"You…do know what that means don't you?"

"Does it mean we do…this?" Lars leaned down and planted a loving kiss on Matthew's warm, slightly chap lips. Matthew absolutely melted, eyes fluttering shut and head tilted back blissfully. He folded his arms around Lars' neck, pulling him closer. Matthew hummed quietly into the kiss before Lars eased their lips apart.

Matthew blushed. "Maybe you _do_ have a romantic side to you, Lars," he whispered.

"Who, me?" he asked sarcastically. "Never."

He laughed again, the orange glow of the fire reflecting upon his smooth, pale skin. Without giving his actions thought, Matthew took Lars by the hand and skipped over to the couch. He sat, pulling Lars down with him. He wrapped his arms around the back of Lars' neck, bumping their foreheads together.

"What are you doing, Matthew?" Lars questioned.

He shrugged in response. "I dunno. Just…want a better look at you." He shut his eyes and kissed him again, much deeper and longer than the last one. His arms slipped from Lars' neck and down his back, all the while Lars' hands caressed Matthew's shoulders. Their heads tilted this way and that as the other moved. Lars forced his weight down, pinning Matthew down on the couch.

The two slipped into a state of bliss, locked in the world they shared together. Their lips intermingled and smacked against one another. A pitiful moan slipped out of Matthew's mouth. But he only wanted more. For the brief moment they pulled away, he whispered near Lars' cheek his name. "Lars…"

Lars' eyes met those of Matthew's, half-lidded and blurred. He tilted his head down and rubbed his face against the crook of Matthew's satin-like neck.

Matthew extended and revealed his neck for him, sighing shakily. He felt his lips and teeth nip at his untouched flesh, from his upper neck to his collarbone. Mindlessly oblivious to his own murmured whimpers of ecstasy, Lars hushed him by holding a hand over his mouth. Ironically, that would only make it worse, as Matthew would giggle uncontrollably and become ticklish.

"Papa's not heeere," he whimpered. "I can be a little l-loud if I wanna…"

"Yeah, I know…but…" Lars' words drifted away.

"But what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know…I just have a bad feeling all of the sudden…"

Matthew smiled warmly. "Maybe…I-I can fix that?" He puckered his lips and pressed them against Lars'. He cupped his hands over Lars' cheeks, grinning and shutting his eyes.

Lars wrapped his arms around Matthew's delicate body, protectively, but tenderly as to not crush him. _How is he so caring,_ Lars pondered. _And so…so gentle? I'm a brute compared to him…Yet here I am, kissing him…holding him. I've never done this with anyone else. _

Matthew paused and lowered his head against the couch to gaze up at him. He smiled nervously, with a little bit of spit spread out across his moist lips. "U-Um…Lars?" he said, face growing crimson. "I-I…"

The light rapping of keys jingling against the front door from the outside disrupted Matthew's statement. Francis' voice could be heard just beyond the walls of the house. Was he speaking to someone? It wouldn't be surprising. He had a habit of bringing over acquaintances.

In an instant, the two glanced at each other before prying the other away and sitting upright on the couch. They each rubbed at the red spots on their necks and pulled the collars of their shirts up to hide them. Matthew skittishly wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, muttering anxiously to himself. Lars returned to his bland, normal look, despite the aroused blush sticking out across his face. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs casually as Francis and an unknown figure entered the home.

Francis and the unnamed individual were cackling over some joke or remark as they settled in the kitchen. "Boys, I'm home!" Francis announced between struggled breaths of laughter.

"You have kids, Francis?" the voice inquired, seemingly shocked at the news.

"Oui. Two boys. One isn't here, however, he's in the air force. Right now it's just my youngest son, Matthew, his friend and myself living here."

"Matthew…I can't help but think I know a Matthew from around here…"

"Well, then, come on! I want you to meet him!"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder as the two approached the living room. They carried on a light conversation as they paced down the hall, the friend of Francis' complementing him on such a fine and beautiful home. To which, Francis thanked him for and gave him a brief trivia about the house.

"Oh, Matthew! There is someone I'd like you to meet!"

Francis placed his hand on Antonio's shoulder and grinned as they made their entrance to the room. "This is Antonio. Antonio, I'd like you to meet my son Matthew and his nice friend-"

"Lars?!"


	18. Chapter 18

A mocking silence occupied the room. Lars stood to his feet, fists clinched tightly as he glared at Antonio. Tension was thick in the air. Matthew looked up worriedly at Lars, eyes wide and scared. He reached his hand out to Lars.

Francis chuckled awkwardly. "I…suppose you two…know each other?"

Antonio tilted his head up and down cautiously, as if staring at an animal about to pounce on him. "Yes…" Then he murmured under his breath, "Unfortunately…"

"What was that?" Lars growled.

Antonio cut his view of Lars away, fearfully ignoring his question. He looked at his friend frightfully. "H-How did you say you know…him…?" he whispered.

Francis tilted his head. "Well…he's…my son's boyfriend." He looked at his son and Lars questioningly. "Antonio, is…there something wrong?"

Antonio leaned his head close to Francis' and covered his mouth with his hand. He murmured into Francis' ear. Francis listened carefully to his friend, glancing up at Lars every so often.

"W-well, surely not," Francis whispered in response. "That has to be a mistake, he's a very-…" Suddenly, he frowned. He scratched at the scruff on his chin. What had Antonio told him in order for him to react in such a way?

After clearing his throat, Francis gently shoved Antonio away from his ear and asked, "Lars…is there something you haven't told us?"

Lars took a step back, frowning scornfully. _Damn you, Antonio… _"I have nothing to tell," he insisted. "Whatever he's telling you…they're either lies or…don't matter."

"Lars…what doesn't matter?" Matthew asked softly, holding onto the sleeve of his shirt.

"Wh-what? Nothing."

Francis stood up to Lars. "Lars, I want to believe you're a good person. But from what my friend is telling me…it seems as though you are not."

"Your 'friend' doesn't know what he's talking about. I know myself better than he does, I assure you."

"P-Papa, what do you mean? What…what did he tell you? Lars?" He slowly stood beside Lars, looking up at him. "You're not…hiding something, are you?"

Lars turned to Matthew. _You don't have to know…_ He felt everyone's eyes on him. They tore at his mind, demanding the truth. But the truth would only ruin what he had built his life up to now. "I'm…I'm not, Matt, I promise."

Matthew shook his head. He didn't believe those words, not for a moment. His eyes lingered needingly on Lars. They pleaded, begged for Lars to open up.

But from this look he gave Lars, he received in return and shrug and a turn away. Lars pushed past Antonio, head low with anger and fear. "Fine. When I came here from Europe, I got mixed up with the wrong crowd, alright? That's all that happened. I was confused and-and I didn't know what to do or where to go." He peered at Matthew again from across the room. "But…I know who I am now. You were the…second chance I needed, Matt. Please…I want to forget about what's passed."

Matthew smiled softly. He stepped up to him, gazing up at him sweetly. "I know, Lars…it's okay…" He stroked Lars' arm gently with the tips of his fingers.

Suddenly, Matthew was ripped away from Lars. Francis pulled Matthew behind him and eyed Lars suspiciously. "Who's to say you won't go down that path again? And what exactly did you and this 'crowd' do?" Rather if it was out of concern for his son, or fear of Lars himself, it was hard to tell why he looked so flustered.

Lars stood motionless, baffled and having no idea on how to explain himself. "I-I…"

"Papa, stop it!" Matthew begged. "It doesn't matter, it's behind him! Please, he's changed!"

"…I don't believe him."

"P-Papa…no…"

Antonio stood by Francis' side. "Lars," he said. "You're a loose cannon, you've always been."

"You don't know that!" Matthew snapped softly.

"I've known him longer than you have, that should say something!" That was the first time he had said anything of importance directed to Matthew. It was the first time he acknowledged him. "You don't know what he's like, I do."

Tears of frustration stung Matthew's eyes. Why was everyone so blind to the fact that Lars is good? Maybe he was bad in the past, but that doesn't matter now, does it? He'd never return to his past-

Lars snatched the collar of Antonio's shirt. He shoved him against the wall behind him and pinned him back. "That's not who I am anymore," he snarled through his teeth.

"Is it, Lars?" Antonio asked fearlessly, though he struggled to breathe. "Because it sure doesn't look that way right now."

Lars lowered his lips and covered his bared teeth. He stared at his hand, clinched tightly with a death grip around Antonio's shirt. He released his grasp and turned his head to see a frightened Matthew and disappointed Francis.

Lars backed away from Antonio. "I-I'm sorry, I…" He became pale in the face. "I…"

"Get out." Francis pointed to the door. "Get out of my house. I don't trust you around my son."

"W-…Wait…No…No!" Matthew tugged harshly on Francis' arm. "No , please, he can't leave! His house isn't safe for him! He lives in a shack!" His eyes widened. "That…that's not what I meant I…"

Lars was already at the door after that remark. His hand had just landed on the doorknob when Francis stopped him. "The clothes," he said. "Give Alfred's clothes back. Then you can leave."

Lars looked down at the clothes on his body, keeping him warm and safe. They were his son's. Of course he'd want them back. He nodded. "I will." He backed away from the door and began his way upstairs, where he knew his clothes were.

Hesitantly, Matthew followed him upstairs, tears gushing from his eyes. "Lars?! Lars!" He wrapped his arms around him, his face pressed against Lars' back. Lars stopped in his tracks, staring up at the ceiling.

"Let me go, Matthew," he murmured.

"No! I-I'll never let you go!"

"Matthew…Please let go of me."

"I-I'm sorry, Lars, really, I-"

"Damn it, let go of me!" he forced himself away and marched viciously down the hall. He slammed the guest bedroom door, leaving Matthew standing there with nothing to hold…no one to comfort. Matthew collapsed to his knees, pressing his hands against his chest. He wept silently with his head hung low.

As Lars walked past him, he dropped his brother's clothes beside him. He wrapped his tattered, old coat around his body and lifted his scarf up past his nose. His satchel hung from his side.

He gazed down at Matthew , sobbing by his feet. "I know you'll be thinking it," Lars said quietly. "…But don't follow me."

"Y-You still h-have to finish m-my painting…I-it's my…Ch-Christmas gift…r-remember?" Matthew lifted his head and looked up at Lars, his heart falling to pieces. "You…have t-to finish it…"

Lars placed his hand on top of Matthew's head. "Some other time, Matt." His hand slid down his back as he paced past him and back downstairs. Francis and Antonio were murmuring to each other in hushed tones. They glared at Lars as he made his way to the exit.

Standing tall, Lars made one final remark as he began to make his leave. "Thank you for your hospitality, Francis. Please make sure Matthew is happy this Christmas." Without giving Antonio so much as a glance, he turned and left, becoming engulfed in the frigid wind.

Francis heard Matthew's soft wails from the floor above him. He bit his lip nervously._ I did this to keep you safe…I don't know what I'd do if you ever got hurt._ A gentle hand rested upon his shoulder.

"You did the right thing," Antonio told him. "Lars is unsteady…unreliable. You saw what he did to me…" He rubbed the front of his wrinkled shirt, where his skin had become red. "And I'll tell you, that wasn't the first time he's done that to me…"

Francis slowly began to nod. "Thank you, Toni," he sighed. "He seemed like a nice guy…maybe…over time he'll redeem himself."

Matthew held himself as he stumbled into the room Lars had spent his nights in. His bed was sloppy and papers cluttered the floor. Lars didn't bring much. In fact, he came with only the clothes on his back and the things he used to paint with. And there it was, the easel stood isolated in the corner of the room, forgotten by its owner. Lars' old tubes of paint still rested on the small shelf connected to the easel. Everything left untouched. Yet…something felt missing. Not Lars himself, but something particular…something small. Matthew's overflowing eyes widened with shock. The wine Francis gave him had vanished.

*****AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yet again, I assumed this fanfiction would be short, but I find myself doing the same thing I did last time by making it long. xD Oh well. Anyways, hope all my readers had a Merry Christmas and will have a happy new year. May all your ships sail this 2014! **_**Please review!**_*******


	19. Chapter 19

As night fell upon the house, Matthew pathetically crawled into his bed, face swollen and red from his tears. His throat burned from the yelling he directed at his father. He was beyond angry with him. He tried desperately to make him reconsider his choice and allow Lars back into the home. But to no avail. Now he lay in his bed, staring longingly into space, pondering over what Lars was doing at the moment, hoping he was safe. Tomorrow was Christmas eve…He had looked forward to spending it with Lars. Would he ever spend time with him again? Would Lars even attend classes anymore? Lars said it himself, Matthew was his only second chance. Had Matthew…failed him?

Matthew cringed and gripped his covers, pulling them over his head. A terrible, gnawing feeling came over him. Something just wasn't right. Lars had gone on and on about how he didn't drink…but the only thing he took with him was that bottle of wine. It didn't add up. And Matthew knew this. He lifted his head from the pillow and flung the covers from his body. He violently rubbed at his eyes, weepy and dry now. He glared out his balcony window._ I have to find him._

Hurriedly, he dressed himself in thick clothing, followed by his snow boots and raincoat. Snow had begun to ease from the sky, but by later tonight, it could begin to fall rapidly and harshly.

_I have to get out without Papa seeing me._ He glanced at the crack of his door, seeing a hazy orange glow emit from it, meaning Francis was still probably awake. His attention returned to the balcony door. He forced the glass doors open. He was slapped in the face by unforgiving cold winds as he peered over the railing. Due to the drastic amount of snowfall lately, the drop from the balcony to the ground had decreased since the time Lars caught him before he could plummet to the ground. _Can I make that?_

Without consulting reason, he eased one leg over the railing, followed by the other. He held onto the rail tightly between his gloved hands. He now stood on the outer edge of the balcony. With one little step backwards, he'd fall several feet to the ground. With a little too much hope that the snow would break his fall, he squeezed his eyes shut and released his grip.

His legs slid out from under him after a hard contact with the ground, harder than he thought it would be. He instead landed on his backside. A lightning bolt of pain shot from his lower end all through his body. He whimpered and rolled onto his side, grabbing the small of his back. "Ow…!" He stared up at the balcony above him. It was quite the fall.

He reassured himself that he didn't break anything, as he assumed his pain would be much greater if he did. Cautiously, he stood. The bottom of his feet felt sore from the descent. Yet he began to walk…then run…then sprint. He carried himself as swiftly as he could to Lars' house. It was the first place that came to mind to find him.

The sharp, cold air burned his throat all the more with each breath he took. His legs ached at the sudden, sporadic movement of running so quickly. Lars' house had never seemed so far away. As he passed campus, he leaned himself against a bench, clawing the wood with his nails. His wet breath dissolved into the air, floating away from his mouth. He wanted to cry, to scream out Lars' name. But this he would not do. He knew it would be pointless and would only waste his breath. He pushed himself away from the bench and ran on. _Please be okay…please be okay…oh, God, Lars, please be okay!_

A small crowd of raggedy, dingy people grouped together near the side of Lars' home. The people looked angered and annoyed, with their arms crossed and curse words booming from their mouths.

"The damn drunk is at it again," one grumbled to the other.

"Thought he'd gone sober by now."

"How long has it been? A year and a half?"

"Shit, look at the window! Shattered to pieces! Looks like he fucking jumped right out of it!"

"Ya think he did?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. The guy's _crazy._"

"You could hear the bastard yelling from a mile away!"

Matthew bolted past the group of people, knowing he would not be seen. "Lars?! Lars, it's okay, it's just me! Please, Lars! Come out! You're going to be okay-"

His soft gasp echoed down the hall. The house was in tatters on the inside. Paint splashed against the crumbling walls. Shattered glass littered the floor. There were holes in the walls, the size of fists…

Matthew grew frightened, _terrified._ Yet he continued to shift slowly down the haunting hallway. Paintings were either tilted on the nails that they hung from or knocked off the wall all together. Some were even ripped apart…

"L-Lars?" Matthew entered his bedroom then wished he hadn't. The room was demolished. His beautiful paintings, drawings, sketches…reduced to shreds of paper. Matthew collapsed by the tiny, pathetic bed and hid his face in the covers. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see this. Maybe this was just a bad dream? Yes, that would make sense. He squeezed his eyes tight, tight enough to force tears out his eyes again._ Wake up! Wake up!_

He lifted his head to find that this was not a dream…but a nightmare brought to life. "Lars!" he screamed through his weak throat. "I need you, Lars! Come back!"

A reflective light shined in Matthew's eye, causing him to blink and turn away. He whined and slowly turned his head back and saw the shiny object on Lars' bed. An empty wine bottle, cracked and nearly shattered on the bottom. He carefully picked it up and observed it. Yes, this was the wine Francis gave him, there was no doubt.

"Where are you?" he whispered, setting the bottle down. He stood, shaking from exhaustion and worry. Outside, he could hear the continuing ramblings of the nosy, inconsiderate people. As he overheard their conversations, he heard the raspy voice of a man mention he saw a figure, most likely Lars, stumble down the street near town.

He hurried out of the house, unseen by the mass of people, slowly growing as their curiosities evolved. No longer able to run, Matthew half-jogged down the road, careful of the slick ground below him. His jogging soon slowed down to a walk. Deep bags began to form under his eyes. He was cold and shivering. From what he could figure, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

Finally, his body could take no more. Stars danced in his vision. His foot slipped from under him. His knees hit the ground with a painful force, followed by his hands as they desperately tried to catch him. His cheek hit the cold pavement, sticking to his skin. He cried out small whimpers as he pushed himself back up with all his might. He collapsed onto his side, out of breath and willpower. _Lars…I-I have to find…Lars._

His eyes began to shut. His vision began to blur. Exhaustion wrapped itself around Matthew's body. Every cell in his being burned. Just as his eyes closed, a little spark in the distance made itself known from down an alley. It was a light orange glow, comforting to see after seeing nothing but gray and white.

Matthew knew he needed warmth, otherwise he would freeze to death if he passed out here in unfamiliar territory. With a pained grunt, he crawled forward. Using a trashcan for assistance, he pulled himself up to his feet and regained his posture. He removed his glasses and wiped them against his damp jacket, as they were smudged. As he did, he continued to approach the small halo of light before him.

Voices resonated from deeper down the alleyway. Matthew froze and shakily returned his glasses to his face, regaining a clearer vision. The orange glow no longer looked comforting and hopeful. A metal barrel with a burning, evil looking flame flickering in the center of a group of darkly dressed figures was the source of light.

This was_ not_ the place Matthew wanted to be. He instantly turned around, hoping to find shelter somewhere else. But he paused there, for he heard a familiar, sought after voice.

"I don' have the money right now…I'll get it to ya later…" Lars' voice was slurred and deep with alcohol and exhaustion. His hair hung in his flushed face. He swayed where he stood, struggling to keep his balance. He did not look well at all. Dried blood that had dripped from the now closed cuts on his skin was caked to his hands. Were they from the shattered glass, or the punches he flung into the walls?

The apparent leader of this group of darkly covered men glared at him menacingly. "You ain't gettin' shit from us until you pay up." Then the man grinned from under his hood. He shared this evil grin with the rest of his posse, as though it meant something. "Unless you'd like to pay us with something else?"

Lars frowned with confusion. "Like…what?"

"You forgot how it works around here already, Lars? Or are you so damn drunk right now you can't even think?" The hooded figure nodded to a man beside him. Gleefully, he chugged what was left of a beer bottle and smashed it against the brick wall, breaking the bottle in half and leaving jagged, sharp edges.

In an instant, the broken bottle bashed upon Lars' head forcefully by the same man. Blood splattered the ground. Despite the numbing alcohol in his system, the pain was so intense, it brought Lars to his knees. He held his upper face, screaming with agony. Blinded by the blood dripping into his eye, he was unable to look up.

Matthew's scream went unheard. His heart sank into his stomach. Unable to move, he watched as his beloved Lars was beaten. His screams pierced his body like daggers. _What do I do?! Do something, Matthew! Anything!_ _…The police! …No…I-I left my phone at…at home…_

"…L…La…Lars…Lars…No…" He stood helplessly, cowardly, shivering in the corner, pleading in murmurs for them to stop, but the gang didn't even know of Matthew's presence. The gang kicked Lars' sides repetitively, demanding him to stand and fight.

Eventually, but not quickly enough, the gang seemed to become bored of Lars' torment. They stepped away, spitting on him and kicking snow over his unconscious body.

The one conversing with him earlier knelt beside Lars, pulling his head up by his hair. The man murmured something inaudible into his ear, grinning. He cackled boorishly and tossed Lars to the side, like a broken toy. "Toss him in the dumpster," he told his group. They obediently did as he ordered, lifting Lars' limp, bloody body into the filthy garbage with disturbed glee. The lid shut with a booming thud, echoing down the alleyway. Pleased with their work, the group went on their way, paying no mind to the terrified boy hiding in the shadows.


	20. Chapter 20

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His world froze. What…just happened? Did…it really happen? Matthew's mind went blank, his eyes became wide with silent fear. Those screams…those unanswered cries for help. And Matthew did nothing. He stood and watched, like a coward. The moment Lars needed him most, Matthew crawled in a corner and observed from a safe distance. Could he even be _dead_ now because of his choices? He stared mindlessly at the dumpster, where Lars' body rested. The danger was gone, so why couldn't he move? He couldn't even think. He stood there without a brain for several minutes until reality slapped him back into the world. A thick gust of freezing snow and wind gave him a push forward. "…L…Lar-…Lars…Lars! LARS!"

He stumbled down the alley and stared up at the dumpster. Reaching with all his might, he flipped the heavy lid open and peered inside. "Lars! Oh, God, Lars, can you hear me?" Silence replied to his question. It was hard to see inside the eerie dumpster, and the hideous smell emitting from it made it all the more discomforting. Matthew blindly reached his hand inside, grasping into the darkness. He cried Lars' name out softly into the dumpster, unable to reach him and see him. "Please…please wake up…" he begged weakly. He hardly had any energy left for himself, let alone to help Lars.

Finally after an eternity of pleading and crying, Matthew heard a hushed groan. "Lars? Lars! I-If you can see m-me, gr-grab my hand…!" A moment passed and Matthew felt a familiar hand grip his. Matthew held his hand tight and pulled back, using what little strength he had to pry him from the trash-filled dumpster.

The two both fell backward onto the ground, Matthew being crushed by Lars' weight on top of him. He gasped as air fled from his lungs. He carefully pushed Lars off him and tried to regain his breath.

"L-Lars?" He placed a hand on Lars' shoulder. "…O-Oh, Lars…"

His face was severely bruised and swollen. The gash above his right eye oozed blood down his face. The cut was dangerously deep and needed medical attention immediately. Lars had curled his body into a fetal position and clung to his sides. His ribs were more than likely bruised or even broken. When he coughed, blood sprinkled from his nose and mouth. He panted weakly, looking up at Matthew with agony and regret written all over his face. His already half-lidded eyes began to close, too swollen to keep open and too tired to even try. Confused as to why he was seeing Matthew, he only assumed it was a hallucination. He passed out again in Matthew's trembling arms.

…

Numb, weak, exhausted. Regretful, ashamed, humiliated.

Unbearable pain throbbed in Lars' head. His eyes wouldn't open entirely, as if his eyelids were being weighed down. A bright light blinded what little vision he had. He turned his head away with a soft groan. His body was numb and frozen in place. Why bother fighting it? There was nothing he could do. All he could do was wait. Lay there and wait.

"Lars? Lars, are you awake?"

The angelic voice softly murmured against his ear. He knew that voice, adored that voice. Forcing his eyes open, he searched through the haze for the source of the sound. A shadowy figured loomed above Lars, staring down at him. Bouncy, golden curls surrounded the ovular shape of a head. Blurred orbs of violet peered down at him, vibrant with concern and fear, sparkling from tears yet unshed.

"Lars? Lars…can you hear me?" Matthew cupped his hand over Lars' bandaged cheek with the upmost care. A blanket draped over Matthew's shoulders and around his body. His cheeks were flushed and his nose was runny, but it was a small price to pay considering the cold could have done worse damage to his body. "Lars? Hey…"

He watched as Lars opened his eye, slightly dilated. The other was covered with a bandage. Thankfully and luckily, his eye wasn't damaged, but the gash above his eyebrow required many stitches and would eventually leave a nasty scar.

Lars parted his dried, cracked lips to speak, but only moaned painfully and gritted his teeth together.

Matthew softly hushed him, stroking his hair. "Shhh, don't talk…It's okay now…you're safe…"

"…W…Where…"

"You're…in the hospital, but you'll be fine."

Lars stared up at him and frowned. "…You…"

"H-huh…?"

"You…look…sick…I think…you need to…eat some soup…" The corner of his mouth twitched to a smile.

Matthew began to cry as he chuckled. He grasped Lars' hand and held it against his cheek. He sighed against his fingers. "Y-You're sweet, Lars…"

They spent a few minutes in silence together. They obviously didn't want to talk about what happened, or at least Matthew didn't. Lars might not even remember what happened…It was only a matter of time until Francis would be there to pick up Matthew, and who knows how bad his reaction would be. But…now that he was no longer able to stay with them, where would Lars stay? His house was destroyed…He can't live on the streets, not while Matthew has anything to say about it. Rather if his Papa wanted it or not, Lars was coming home with him.

"Matt?" Lars murmured tiredly. "Why…Am I here? Everything is…sort of a blur."

He turned away from the question, wanting to forget everything he saw. It was the scariest, most horrific night of his life, and he couldn't forget about it soon enough. "You don't…remember?" he asked.

"…No…It's…kind of hard to…recall anything right now…" Another surge of pain zapped through his head and sides.

Matthew placed Lars' hand down and patted his arm. "You're just tired…and the pain medicine the doctors gave you is probably blurring your memory. Just rest for now…Get some sleep. I'll be right here. I'll tell you everything if you still don't remember when you wake up. I promise." He leaned down and kissed Lars' cheek. "I love you," he whispered shakily.

"Love…you, too…Matt." His eyes shut again and was asleep in an instant.


End file.
